


Find Me in the Shallows

by luthorshaw



Category: Glee
Genre: 20 year reunion, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Divorced Quinn, F/F, F/M, Future Fic, M/M, Unhappy marriage, Writer! Quinn, it’s all about the yearning, newly divorced quinn, side blam, side brittana, they're both thirty eight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:20:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22681603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luthorshaw/pseuds/luthorshaw
Summary: Rachel and Quinn see each other for the first time in years at their twenty year reunion.
Relationships: Rachel Berry/Quinn Fabray
Comments: 46
Kudos: 214





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to the Glee Universe. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> This AU came about from being emo on the timeline aka this: 
> 
> https://twitter.com/fvgbray/status/1227325747540393984?s=20
> 
> I have no beta, so all mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Follow me @fvgbray for Faberry breakdowns.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

**I.**

Rachel is in Lima for the first time in a long time.

Not because she hasn’t had a reason to visit, but because her career hasn’t given her the luxury of doing so. 

When she wants to see her fathers, they have to make the trip to her cottage on the east coast or her timeshare in LA, or else she doesn’t see them. It’s one of the few facets of her job that she doesn’t like, but the diva can’t say that she’s disappointed by her lack of time in Ohio.

Today, Rachel does happen to be in her hometown, staring up at a banner that reads “McKinley High Class of 2012, 20 Year Reunion.” She almost dry heaves at the sight.

She’s gotten her EGOT nearly four times over and has been nominated for more awards than she can count. Despite her accomplishments, nothing makes her feel more like a fraud than she does right now. 

Standing outside double doors with her old high school classmates waiting on the other side.

There are only five people in the establishment who know anything about Rachel’s life aside from what they’ve read in the tabloids. It’s somewhat daunting yet relieving to know, but it doesn’t seem to ease her mind any less.

Rachel is wearing an understated black dress that dips down into a V at her chest. Her wavy hair is flowing over one shoulder and her eyes are covered in dark eyeshadow, giving her a mature, smoky look.

She looks hot. She’s made sure of it.

Broadway money was able to buy Rachel the best clothes, the most expensive cruelty free makeup, and the best hair products to complete her look. But all of the money in the world couldn’t have prepared the diva for this reunion.

Rachel Berry looks incredible for thirty eight, and deep down she knows it.

It is with that sobering thought that she bursts through the double doors and faces the music.

* * *

Ultimately, the reunion is fine. Not exceptional, not great, but _okay._

The hall is beautiful, which is surprising considering Jacob Ben Israel planned the event. Regardless, most of Rachel’s classmates seem to be having a good time anyway.

Everyone has aged pretty decently in the two decades it’s been since graduation. It’s strange seeing Sam Evans with a full beard and Noah Puckerman balding and gray, but other than those key differences, not much has changed.

Especially Rachel’s best friends.

Brittany and Santana are grinding on the dance-floor, which only makes Rachel smile. Because how could you not when it comes to the two of them?

Rachel scans the room further and sees Blaine whisper something into Kurt’s ear, who laughs and looks at his husband like he’s the only person in the room. 

Her friends have the type of love that Rachel had always dreamt of. She can’t help but be a little jealous that she never got it.

Not with...well.

She’s catching up with Mike and Mercedes, who both are doing rather well for themselves out in Atlanta, before someone whispers into Rachel’s ear. 

“This is all very _Romy and Michelle_ , isn’t it?”

Rachel turns around and is faced with the most beautiful sight she has ever seen. One she hasn’t seen in nearly two decades.

_Quinn Fabray._

And not just Quinn Fabray.

Quinn Fabray with her hair pushed up and back, complimented by a white button down, slacks, and a matching suit jacket.

Rachel’s heart nearly leaps out of her chest at the vision. She’s ethereal and unreal simultaneously.

“Quinn,” Rachel mutters breathily and throws the woman into a massive hug. 

It feels so good to be in Quinn’s arms that Rachel doesn’t want to let go. But she eventually does to ensure she’s not making the blonde uncomfortable.

“You look incredible, Rachel,” the blonde gushes, her hands resting on the diva’s forearms. 

“So do you,” Rachel grins, blushing slightly. She wants to say more, but she refrains. “Let me buy you a drink?”

Quinn laughs, and it’s the prettiest thing Rachel has ever seen.

“I’m pretty sure it’s an open bar, but I’ll take you up on it.”

* * *

They’re three drinks in when Quinn rolls her eyes and says over top of her glass, “This is sadder than I thought it’d be.”

They’re watching from one of the vacant tables while the glee men take the dance floor. The guys and Tina are performing one of the club’s old mash ups and failing miserably. It looks like fun, but Rachel feels too buzzed to be bothered.

She had danced with most of them earlier in the evening, yelling promises of hanging out more in the future over the blaring music. They were hardly promises any of them were going to keep at this stage in their lives anyway. 

“Sad how?”

“We’re approaching forty and still trying to relive our glory days,” Quinn sighs, pushing a stray hair out of her face. “It’s a little pathetic, don’t you think?”

Rachel frowns, turning to the group and watches as Artie rolls over one of Puck’s feet during a complicated turn. He yelps loudly into his microphone and Rachel stifles her laughter before looking back to Quinn.

“Maybe a little.”

At that, Quinn downs the rest of her whiskey and places her hands down flat on the table. Her brows furrow like she’s debating something. Eventually she asks, “Do you want to get out of here?”

Rachel doesn’t think much before responding, “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

* * *

They wind up back at Quinn’s penthouse suite, because bringing the blonde to Rachel’s childhood home wasn’t an option. Her fathers would ask too many questions about who the blonde is and why they’ve never met her before.

Rachel finds herself standing in a large room with wooden floors, a fireplace, and a balcony with a jacuzzi. Most people at the reunion could only dream of affording a rental like this. 

Quinn clearly isn’t short on money.

The blonde disappears into the bedroom and comes back sans suit jacket, bow tie and with her shoulder length locks flowing wildly.

Rachel feels herself leering as Quinn makes her way over to the bar and pulls out two expensive looking bottles. “Wine or more wine?”

Rachel giggles at her. She grabs two clear glasses, attempting to be helpful and to not lose her buzz. Quinn pours a bit unstably, but miraculously manages not to spill any of the contents of the bottle on either of them. 

When each woman has their own drink, Rachel comments, “You’ve done well for yourself.”

“You could say that,” Quinn smirks into her glass, playing coy. 

Rachel moves to take a sip of her wine but then, “Should we toast?”

“I don’t think it counts if we’re already drunk, Rach.”

“I’m not drunk,” Rachel scoffs, then proceeds to trip over her own feet while making her way to the couch. Quinn can’t help but chuckle at the brunette’s antics and joins her shortly after. Rachel then clears her throat. “You’re still writing best selling novels then?”

Quinn quirks an eyebrow in question, the former head cheerleader coming out to play. “Did you Google me, Berry?”

Rachel avoids grinning by taking another swig. “Call it natural curiosity.”

The blonde sighs and leans further into the sofa. “They pay the bills. I’m working on a few side projects, but don’t tell my agent,” the blonde stage whispers, which gets a hearty chuckle out of Rachel. “How about you? Still taking Broadway by storm?”

The diva nods with a massive grin. “I’ve actually just come off of a Taika Waititi film. But I’m excited to return to the stage in the next couple of weeks.”

“It’s where you belong.”

The brunette beams at that, looking into her lap. The comment reminds her of heartbreak and original songs, but she pushes the thoughts to the back of her mind.

When she looks back up, Rachel’s eye line lands on Quinn’s slender fingers without her permission. Before she can stop herself, she blurts, “I noticed you aren’t wearing a ring. You never married? Had any children?”

Quinn tenses at that momentarily, but decides to go with the truth. “I’m newly divorced, actually.”

The blonde doesn’t seem too upset by this, so Rachel attempts to make light of the revelation. “Your taste in men did leave much to be desired.”

Quinn tenses again, but lifts her chin and admits, “I was married to a woman, actually.”

 _That_ , Rachel wasn’t expecting.

“You’re gay?”

“Extremely.”

Rachel nods, trying to wrap her head around the fact that the girl she had once fought over boys with has come to discover that she’s a lesbian. She thinks about Quinn’s high school relationships and suddenly her behavior makes sense.

Quinn’s obsession with status, the Celibacy Club, her religion.

“That actually shouldn’t surprise me as much as it does,” Rachel admits, cheeks turning rosier by the minute. She’s unsure why the thought of Quinn with another woman fascinates her, but Rachel has enough sense to keep her inquiries at bay.

But boy, does she have questions.

“It really shouldn’t, considering how I treated you,” Quinn laughs. “Especially in senior year. God, I was such an obvious mess.”

Hearing Quinn Fabray say the Lord’s name in vain sets something alight in her belly. Rachel dismisses it, because the blonde is saying something important here.

“What do you mean?”

“Come on,” Quinn waves a drunken arm in the air. “You had to know I had a crush on you, Rachel.”

Oh.

Quinn Fabray, the most popular girl at McKinley, had a crush on her. 

On _her_.

Suddenly Rachel wasn’t a thirty eight year old renowned actress, but a seventeen year old girl who just wants the pretty head cheerleader to notice her. 

And she _has._

To know that Quinn is gay and had a crush on Rachel all those years ago…

“I need to sit down,” Rachel admits, suddenly feeling a bit nauseous. This was a lot to process after all this time.

“Rachel,” Quinn says plainly, “You _are_ sitting.”

“Oh,” the diva states, feeling around the couch that she actually is, in fact, seated on. “Then maybe I just need a beverage that isn’t alcoholic.”

“I’ll grab you some water,” Quinn says, seeming to not mind some distance from the brunette.

Because honestly? Rachel has no idea what to do with this. She just knows that it’s very important for some reason.

Quinn returns with a bottle of water, which Rachel chugs. Her mouth is extremely dry and she never did get out of the habit of drinking water when she’s sad. Except now, she’s doing it because she’s panicked and confused. 

All the blonde does is watch her patiently. It’s almost as if Quinn is waiting for some sort of freak out, which Rachel totally isn’t doing.

She’s cool. She’s _calm_.

She sets the glass down on the coffee table in front of her once she’s emptied it. “Let me get this straight. Well, maybe not so straight,” she amends, with a small chuckle. “You, Quinn Fabray, had a crush on me, Rachel Berry.”

“Of course I did,” the blonde states plainly. Like it’s the most obvious fucking thing in the world. Which bothers Rachel, because she had no clue. “You didn’t know?”

It’s less of a question and more of a statement, but it seems that this tidbit of information has thrown both of them for a loop. It’s evident that Quinn thought Rachel had known about the crush.

“If I had, maybe—” When Rachel trails off with a shake of her head, Quinn places a hand on hers. The action sets Rachel’s skin aflame.

“Maybe what?”

“Nothing,” Rachel tells her, pulling her hand away. “Thank you for telling me.”

Quinn nods, accepting the loss of contact. They sit in awkward silence for a moment before the diva says, “You aren’t going to ask me if I’m married?”

Quinn’s hazel eyes burn into her. “You don’t seem to be wearing a ring either.”

Rachel leaves the matter there. 

“Wanna try out the jacuzzi?”

Rachel frowns. “I didn’t bring a bathing suit.”

“You’re wearing a bra and panties I presume?”

Rachel contemplates the merits of this decision. She eventually nods in affirmation. “Fine. But only if we bring the wine.”

* * *

Once they are on the balcony, Quinn’s fingers work to unbutton her dress shirt. Rachel finds her head swimming as the blonde removes the article of clothing and tosses it onto a woven chair. She removes her slacks too and Quinn is suddenly down to her underwear.

The blonde is incredibly gorgeous and Rachel can’t seem to avert her gaze.

Quinn seems to notice her captivated audience, and smirks with a question in her eyes. “Are you going to just stand there or are you going to strip?”

The diva shudders and attempts to reach for the zipper at the back of her dress, but struggles. Quinn smirks as she saunters over to assist her, standing incredibly close.

The blonde presses into Rachel’s side as she carefully slips the zipper all the way down, as far as it can possibly go. She presses a hand onto Rachel’s bare lower back before moving the undone dress off one shoulder, then the other.

Quinn’s movements are slow and calculated, as if she were to move too harshly, Rachel would break. The diva feels the goosebumps forming and her heart pounding heavily against her ribcage. 

The blonde then pushes Rachel’s hair out of her face and looks to her for consent. Rachel nods breathlessly and lets Quinn pull the dress the rest of the way down, the diva completely focused on darkened hazel eyes and not her sudden half-nakedness.

Once the garment pools on the floor, Rachel steps out of the dress completely and kicks it to the side. Both women stare intently at one another when they’re both left relatively exposed. 

The blonde bites the corner of her lip like she’s dying to say something. 

Rachel nearly begs her to.

“Shall we?” Quinn says instead.

The brunette shakes whatever it is that they’re doing off and smirks mischievously. “We shall,” Rachel states and shoves Quinn into the jacuzzi. 

But not without the blonde pulling her in with her.

* * *

They exchange numbers and Rachel insists that they keep in touch. Part of her knows that Quinn won’t call. 

She tries not to think about that as she boards her flight. 

Once her plane touches down on the tarmac, reality sets back in. 

* * *

Her driver drops her off at a well lit cottage in suburban New Jersey. Rachel breathes an anxious sigh before dragging her suitcase through the front doors.

It’s late, so she doesn’t expect anyone to be awake at this hour. The silence of the foyer makes her want to scream, but she doesn’t. Instead, she lugs her bags up the carpeted staircase and leaves them at the top. Rachel reaches inside of her sweatshirt pocket and pulls out a wedding band. She slips it onto her finger, like she’s done this a million times before.

Rachel quietly moves toward the far bedroom on the top floor and gently pries the door open. She sits at the edge of a four poster bed and watches a little boy as he sleeps. The diva ruffles his hair a bit and he stirs. 

“Mom?” Nate picks his head up and rubs the sleep from his eyes. Rachel smiles warmly at him in the dark. “I’ve missed you.”

The diva pulls the little boy into her arms and rubs at his back. “I’ve missed you too, angel.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter poured out of me somehow, so here's an early update.
> 
> Kudos and comments are appreciated.
> 
> Enjoy!

**II.**

Rachel returns back to work the following week, exhausted but ready to sink her teeth into a new project. Her agent had sent her the script while she was in Lima, a musical starring two female nurses turned doctors out of necessity during World War II. 

Not booking it wasn’t an option for Rachel. 

The Director, an up and comer named David Lam, had written the lead role, Amelia, with Rachel in mind. He hadn’t even asked her to come in for an audition.

The diva insisted anyway, and blew him and Producers away.

The Lyft from her house to the theatre gives Rachel some time to break down the pages and really dive into them. It is the most excitement she’s felt about her career in a long time. 

Rachel feels like she has a good grasp on her character and the story when the driver pulls up to the curb. She thanks the man, tips him generously on the app and shuts the door with a kind wave.

Once she pokes her head inside the theatre, David approaches her in a mild tizzy. It appears their investors want him to take the musical in a different direction.

The thought alone made Rachel nervous. 

“What kind of changes, David?” 

The man pushes his hair out of his face and centers himself. His frustration is obvious, so Rachel prepares herself for the worst.

“It appears that our investors see _A Rip in Time_ as more of,” the man taps his chin a few times, searching for the right words. “A romance.”

Rachel furrows her brow. She was frankly tired of playing the girlfriend, a wife or lover to a mediocre male lead. Her counterparts’ roles were meatier than hers a majority of the time, which was why she was so excited to be telling this particular story. 

The friendship between Amelia and the other lead character was something she never got the chance to explore before. It was that aspect that drew Rachel to the project initially, and she’d be disappointed if the story didn’t have their unique dynamic at the forefront.

“I thought the play was an exploration of the friendship between Amelia and Constance,” Rachel argues, trying to keep her frustration at bay. “How the war pushed them to rely on their skills and one another in ways that they never imagined?”

David nods. “That’s exactly what it’s about. Except the investors don’t see their relationship as solely a friendship.”

The gears turn in Rachel’s mind, who subsequently covers her mouth with both hands.

“The love story is between Amelia and Constance,” the diva says, with a bit of wonder in her voice. She doesn’t know why, but at the news, she thinks of Mary Janes and a Cheerios uniform. “That’s amazing, actually. I’ve never had the opportunity to play gay before.”

David’s shoulders slump in visible relief. “Oh, thank heavens. You’re on board.”

Rachel’s brow crinkles at this. Why wouldn’t she be?

“Of course I am, David,” the diva reassures.

“Not to be presumptuous, Ms. Berry, but you _have_ had experiences with women, correct? I just worry about the authenticity of the performances and—”

Rachel doesn’t listen to the rest of his rant and is instantly upset. “Not that that’s any of your business, but no, I haven’t,” she tells him. He takes a step back, clearly aware that he’s hit a nerve. “I don’t see how that disqualifies me from being able to step into Amelia’s shoes, when the rewrites come.”

Rachel doesn’t understand what her inexperience has to do with anything. By that logic, she can’t play her character because she hasn’t seen war. Or practiced medicine. The implication that she needed to have kissed a woman to play this part was unfathomable to the diva.

“My apologies, Rachel,” David says, remorsefully. “I didn’t mean to insinuate that you couldn’t do this. You’ll have plenty of time to dive into Amelia’s feelings for Constance once you meet Erin this afternoon.”

Rachel isn’t reassured, and is actually quite nervous about all of this. 

So what if she’s never been with a woman? 

Why did David assume that she had? Was she giving off a vibe? 

Why did she care if she was?

It’s all making her head spin, and she desperately wants to call Santana for some much needed sapphic advice. But she has a rehearsal to get through, and Rachel Berry is nothing if not professional. 

Even if this whole thing is bothering her more than she’d like to admit.

* * *

Dinner is packed in tupperware on the kitchen table when Rachel returns home later that night. There’s a note on top of one of the containers that reads, 

_Help yourself. Ash has been asking for you._

_-B_

Rachel tosses it into the trash and warms up the eggplant parmesan with vegan cheese in the microwave. 

Tonight, she’ll process the fact that she’ll be playing a lesbian on Broadway for the next few months, years maybe. Tomorrow she begins her research, which Santana happily assisted her with after Rachel explained her predicament.

Santana didn’t ask too many questions, surprisingly. Probably because the woman is a mother now, and thankfully had other commitments aside from making Rachel squirm.

As she bites through her husband’s cooking, the diva tries not to think about jacuzzis and expensive hotel wine. 

Or the fact that her marriage is most likely failing.

Or the fact that Quinn Fabray had a crush on her in high school.

* * *

After crossing a few films off of Santana’s list of older sapphic movies, Rachel feels more prepared to play a lesbian character. It’s not as if kissing a woman hadn’t ever piqued Rachel’s interest, she just never had the chance to experience it for herself.

When she kisses Erin for the first time at their next rehearsal, the diva expects something more electric from the touch of their lips.

It’s not that it isn’t nice, because it is, but it’s not how _But I’m a Cheerleader_ and _Imagine Me & You _ made kissing someone of her gender seem.

It’s just like kissing any of her other co-stars. Rachel would be lying if she said she didn’t feel slightly disappointed by that.

* * *

Once Rachel begins watching every lesbian movie in existence (even an obscure German one that ends in bloodshed), she simply cannot stop. She’s fascinated by these works of cinema, and it’s making her feel slightly unhinged. 

Not only has she watched every film on Santana’s list, she has sought out other recommendations online. Rachel even signed up to new, seedy streaming services. The rest of the films she’s rented on Amazon Prime. She can almost hear the sound of her bills rising through the roof.

It’s practically an addiction at this point. So much so that watching these films has become part of her daily routine. 

Wake up, elliptical, shower.

Pack the kids’ lunches. 

Send them off to the bus, then Lyft to the theatre. 

Rehearsals all day, checking in on the children during a late afternoon break.

Ride home and subsequently, a late dinner.

Spend time with Nate and Ashley before they sleep.

Watch a lesbian movie. 

Bed.

Repeat.

This research is opening her eyes to so many aspects of this type of love that she never understood before. The sheer beauty of one woman loving another? How could anything get more blissful than that?

Rachel may be obsessed but more importantly, she feels like she’s connected to Amelia, and by extension, Constance. Maybe she’s going a bit more method with the role than she initially anticipated, but it’s okay. 

She feels great and that’s all that matters.

The diva has stuck to her routine for over a week now, but hasn’t been enamored by any of the other films as much as _Atomic Blonde._

Maybe it’s the neon lights. Or the guns. Or the fact that Charlize Theron portrays a blonde woman who is into men and women.

Or maybe it’s the fact that her hair and her attitude reminds her of Quinn.

If Rachel is honest, everything has been reminding her of Quinn lately. 

She passed a locally owned bookstore the other day and wondered if they had any of the blonde’s novels. If she wasn’t running late, she probably would’ve stopped in to check. You know, for reasons.

Two days later, she thought of how Quinn might take her coffee when she was at Starbucks. 

The day after that, Rachel wondered if kissing Quinn would feel differently to kissing Erin.

It’s after that last thought that Rachel pulls out her phone and hovers over the blonde’s contact card.

_Quinn Fabray._

Once she tucks the kids into their beds for the night, Rachel sneaks out the back door and heads into the backyard. She settles onto the hammock her husband put up last summer and somehow plucks up the courage to call the blonde. 

Rachel anxiously hits the call button while she swings.

The brunette half expects it to go to voicemail. After all, it’s possible Quinn had given Rachel her number just to be polite.

Or maybe Quinn felt sorry for Rachel, who was still trying to befriend her after all these years.

_“Go for Lucy.”_

Rachel nearly gasps at the sultry tone on the other line. “Hello, Quinn. It’s Rachel,” the brunette says, clearing her throat. “Berry. Rachel Berry.”

Quinn chuckles while the diva internally chastises herself. _“Hi, Rachel.”_

Rachel’s smile fills her features and feels a plethora of questions bubble to the surface. Maybe it’s all of the films she’s been watching, but she can’t stop wondering whether Quinn still has a crush on her or not.

Although why would she? It’s been years since high school ended, surely the blonde got over it.

Right?

“I - I know we only saw each other a couple of weeks ago, but I was wondering if you had any plans to visit the east coast anytime soon,” Rachel asks, closing her eyes. She feels so desperate asking Quinn this, like she’s bothering the blonde. 

But she doesn’t want to do this over the phone and risk scaring her away for good.

 _“Funny you should ask,”_ the blonde replies, a smirk evident in her voice. _“I just booked a tour in September. A shop in New York City happens to be on it.”_

Rachel nods, processing the fact that she and Quinn will be in the same city again in a few weeks. “Can I see you?”

She holds her breath when the blonde is silent on the other line a bit too long.

_“I’ll send you the details.”_

* * *

It’s a Tuesday in late September when Rachel Berry sees Quinn Fabray again. It’s torrential down-pouring in Manhattan and Rachel happened to leave her umbrella at home this morning. 

It’s just her luck. Having two small children will make you forget things like that.

She does her best to fix her damp hair in the Lyft, but it’s a lost cause. It’s probably for the best that her hair is naturally wavy.

Rachel’s driver happens to recognize her this morning, so she quickly signs an autograph on a napkin the young woman found in the console. Once she’s finished, Rachel politely ducks out and rushes towards the bookstore. 

It turns out the shop she passed the other day does sell Quinn’s work. Her novels are written under Lucy Fabray, not Quinn, which doesn’t surprise Rachel at all. 

Mostly because the blonde’s novels are currently taking up space on Rachel’s Kindle app.

Writing under a pseudonym, even if it is her own name, is so Quinn-like that a subtle warmth sets up shop in Rachel’s chest. The name suits Quinn’s work perfectly and Rachel has never been more proud of her. 

The store has a line of chatty people nearly out the door, which is unsurprising to the diva. The blonde’s books are consistently on the _New York Times’_ best selling list and have been ranted and raved about by reputable publications. Quinn has even recorded several of her own audiobooks, which Rachel may or may not admit to having listened to over the years.

Rachel has read nearly every one of Quinn’s books as they’ve come out, mostly out of sheer curiosity. She hadn’t heard much from the youngest Fabray since graduation and often times, Rachel found herself wondering how Quinn was doing. If life had gotten any easier for her.

If she saw Beth and Shelby after she left town.

Rachel really thought that she and the blonde were becoming friends toward the end of their senior year. But once Quinn started at Yale and Rachel got thrown into the whirlwind that was NYADA, they lost touch. They had emailed back and forth for a while, but eventually Quinn stopped answering as frequently, and stopped responding all together.

It was devastating for Rachel at first, but when she got wind of Quinn’s burgeoning career as a fiction author, the diva jumped at the chance to feel close to her again. In a way, reading the blonde’s work helped Rachel feel closer to her even if she wasn’t physically in her presence. 

The diva understands why the blonde’s work is so popular. Quinn’s words glide onto the page effortlessly and reel you in. Her narratives make Rachel wish someone was writing these works of fiction to her. 

About her _._

Unpredictably, Quinn’s latest novel she has yet to read. Once she purchases a copy, she will most definitely do so on her rides to and from the theatre. 

The diva grabs a book and checks out from the register at the back of the shop. She doesn’t want to distract the blonde from her fans or assume that she will just stop signing simply because Rachel has arrived. So the diva hops on the line, the book tucked underneath her arm as she tries to get a better view of Quinn. 

When she does, her heart skips a beat.

Maybe it’s all the films she’s been watching lately, but the sight of the blonde just melts her into a small Rachel puddle. 

It’s ridiculous. She’s _married_. 

If she and Quinn are just two relatively new friends meeting up like this, why does she feel so guilty?

The line moves rather quickly, Rachel getting closer and closer to the front by the minute. She can see that Quinn is wearing a muted pink beanie, ripped jeans and a black sweater and suddenly Rachel feels as though she’s under dressed. 

She has no clue how the blonde isn’t dying of heat stroke, because it’s seriously hot outside, despite the rain. 

There’s only three people in front of her when Rachel hears whispers behind her of, “Isn’t she that Broadway star?” 

“No way, that’s not her.”

“It looks just like her dude, just without all that green stuff on her face.”

“Well then, shit. She’s even hotter in person.”

The diva blushes momentarily, but turns around. Who is she to deny her fans an opportunity to meet her?

“Hello, fellow book lovers,” she begins with a cheeky smile. “I am 'that Broadway actress' you speak of. Were you interested in an autograph?”

They all nod in unison.

In the midst of addressing a girl named Kate on paper, Rachel senses a rogue pair of eyes on her. She looks over and catches Quinn staring at the group, but Rachel specifically, with an unreadable expression on her face.

Rachel smiles widely, which Quinn returns shortly after, before turning her attention back to the fan in front of her. 

She can hardly look away from Quinn when she speaks, even if Rachel has no idea what she’s saying. The air about her is as intense as ever, and captivates all of Rachel’s attention. She should be focused on the task at hand, but she can’t seem to with the blonde in close proximity. 

The fact that this magnetic woman used to have some sort of affection towards her is...

Yeah, Rachel somehow feels like she’s cheating on her husband. 

_Those damn movies._

It quickly becomes Rachel’s turn, so she tosses an, “It was lovely to meet you!” over her shoulder and proceeds to Quinn’s table. 

“Could you make this out to Rachel Berry?” the diva asks the blonde coyly once she’s reached her. 

“Only if she asks nicely,” Quinn smirks and writes a little blurb in the back of Rachel’s book. “I would’ve sent you a copy if I’d known you wanted to read it.”

Rachel smiles softly as the former head cheerleader shuts the book and hands it back to her once she’s finished. “I like to support locally owned bookstores, Quinn.”

“Of course you do.”

When Rachel moves to retrieve the book, their fingers brush casually. While Rachel is still reeling from the touch, she notices Quinn’s gaze is focused lower. 

On her hand.

The one with the wedding band still on it.

_Shit._

“I have a break in fifteen,” the blonde swallows thickly, waving the next person over. “I’ll text you.”

Rachel nods and hopes Quinn keeps her word. 

* * *

Rachel can only imagine what Quinn is thinking, because she thoughtlessly forgot to place her ring in her bag. She’s waiting underneath an awning of a bodega near the shop, trying her best not to get wet when the blonde’s text comes through.

 **Quinn (12:38pm):** _Know_ _of a quaint place that serves stupidly expensive coffee?_

Rachel knows exactly what Quinn means by “quaint,” so she quickly shoots her an address and heads there herself.

* * *

Rachel is seated at a table tucked in the back corner of the coffeeshop, sipping an overpriced chai latte with soy milk, when Quinn walks in. She orders at the counter and retrieves her drink minutes later. 

The shop is moody with notably low lighting, considering the gloomy day outside. Its dark wood decor gives it a homey quality, and the Christmas lights and bulbs hanging from the ceiling make it hipster-friendly. If it weren’t such a hole in the wall, Rachel supposes it would be more crowded than it is.

Quinn eventually takes a seat across from her. Rachel becomes nervous as the blonde places her things on the chair next to her and settles.

“This place is charming,”she says before taking a sip of her drink. “You sure no one will recognize us?”

It’s not often that authors are recognized, but with a face like Quinn’s, her hesitance makes sense.

“Positive.” Rachel is dying to ask, so she does. “How do you take your coffee?”

“I usually take it black, but every once in a while I like to indulge in something sweeter,” she mutters, swirling the foam at the top around a bit. “Today happens to be one of those days.”

The blonde spins the cup around, showing the diva the writing on the side of it. 

A vanilla latte with soy milk and an extra espresso shot.

Rachel never took Quinn as a soy milk drinker, but at least she has the answer to one of her questions now. She’s trying to work up the courage to get the answer to the other.

When Rachel is reticent for a long time, Quinn then continues.

“Why did you want to see me, Rachel?”

Rachel pales and sits back in the wooden chair, which is about as comfortable as it sounds. 

Rachel feels the weight of twenty years on her shoulders. The pull of complex relationships with men coupled with a void in her gut that they were never able to fill. She feels ridiculous for what she wants to ask Quinn, she does. But if she doesn’t find out what all of this all means, she just may burst. 

Rachel needs to ease that ever present pit in her stomach. Quinn just may be the one to help her do it in some way.

She can’t allow herself to think about why that is.

“Your crush on me,” she begins, and the blonde’s eyes widen. “When did it—”

“Start?” Quinn asks, cutting Rachel off, not unkindly. The blonde looks like she’d rather not have this conversation by the way she’s gripping her chair.

Rachel’s breath hitches before she says, “End?”

Quinn, normally even faced and collected, can’t keep the panic off of her face. It’s only there momentarily, before Rachel watches the mask she knew so well in high school slip back on. “Does it matter?”

“Quinn.” The blonde knows that Rachel is aware of her deflection, but she doesn’t seem to care. It’s survival for Quinn. It’s always been.

But why would she need to use this tactic with Rachel?

Rachel had hoped that Quinn had gotten over this need to protect herself by now. But if she’s being fair, they don’t really know each other that well anymore, do they? 

“You’ve never had feelings for me, Rachel. So no, it doesn’t matter,” she whispers, taking another long sip to avoid speaking any further.

Her words sting and Rachel is unsure why they do. It’s not as if she’s wrong is she? So the diva stays silent, her eyes fixed on Quinn’s fingers, which are now shaking around her paper cup.

Suddenly their eyes meet.

_Feelings?_

“It’s been twenty years, Rachel,” Quinn sighs and fixes the pink beanie resting on her head. The toque had been perfectly in place, so the adjustment is likely something Quinn does to occupy her hands.

If Rachel wasn’t so upset by the blonde’s lack of candor, she may have even found the action cute.

But Quinn omitting the truth is only confusing Rachel even more. The blonde is telling her to let things go, and maybe if Quinn would just be honest with her, she could.

But now? The diva isn’t so sure that she can.

“Are you refusing to tell me because of this?” Rachel asks, pulling her wedding band out of her pocket. “Because I don’t see what that has to do with—”

Quinn hardens. “That’s absolutely part of it. You lied to me when we were in Lima.”

Rachel blanches at her words. “I just wanted a night, Quinn,” Rachel says, wanting the blonde to get off of her high horse and just understand. “One night where I didn’t have to be somebody’s wife. Or an actress. Or a mother.”

Hazel eyes snap to brown. “You have kids? How did you manage to keep them from the press?”

 _From me_ , she really means.

“I like my privacy, Quinn,” the brunette defends. “Surely you of all people can understand that.”

If they were friends and they were having an honest conversation, this could’ve been an opening. 

An opening where Rachel could’ve asked Quinn advice on playing and being gay. 

An opening where Rachel could’ve asked if Quinn still had feelings for her now.

But they aren’t friends. Quinn has made that clear by now.

“Which brings me back to my initial question,” she tries again, significantly more discouraged than she was before. 

Quinn looks like a fish out of water, choking on air. But Rachel can’t quite throw her back to sea just yet.

“You need to let this go, Rachel,” she tells her firmly and moves to get up from the table.

“And what if I can’t?”

That stops Quinn in her tracks.

“That isn’t my problem,” the blonde says before walking out of the establishment, leaving Rachel even more lost than before.

* * *

Rachel returns home earlier than she expects to, considering her meeting with Quinn went awry. At least she doesn’t need the babysitter to pick up her children from school later. And she can offer some of her own cooking tonight for a change. 

Her husband went to culinary school in his twenties, so he normally takes care of meals, but Rachel does enjoy making a few signature dishes from time to time. Especially when she has the day off of work.

Before Rachel starts the pressure cooker, she decides she wants to change out of her previously rain-soaked clothes. She heads to her bedroom to slip into something dry and cozy when she hears it. 

When she arrives at the top of the steps, there are grunts coming from the master bedroom. She reaches into her pocket to ring the police before she realizes they’re not grunts at all.

They’re moans.

Rachel slowly approaches the door and pushes it open with trepidation. What she finds on the other side is quite the sight. 

Her husband is in bed with his co-star, Sheila.

They don’t realize she’s there until she clears her throat, then it’s silent. Too silent.

The sad part is that Rachel gets it. She’s even suspected these types of sexcapades for a long time. But now that she has tangible proof that her husband is cheating on her…

Well.

“Sorry, Rachel,” Sheila says before scooping up her clothes from the floor. She weakly attempts to cover herself up while doing so. Once she has collected her things, she exits the bedroom and heads down the steps. 

Her husband slips his previously discarded boxers back on and doesn’t say a word before parking himself on the edge of the bed. 

Rachel hasn’t moved from the door frame.

“I thought you’d be at rehearsal until late,” he finally says, not meeting her eyes.

It probably seems like Rachel is looking for some sort of explanation, but really, she isn’t. 

Brody offers her one anyway.

“You’ve never let me in, Rachel,” he says sadly. “What was I supposed to do?”

Rachel is thirty eight, accomplished yet incredibly unhappy in other aspects of her life.

Especially in her marriage. 

Before today, she was okay with that, because she got to live out her dream for the past fifteen years. 

She now realizes that her kids deserve more than this. More than cheating. 

Absence. 

Sacrificing love for their careers.

She deserves more than this too, and so does Brody.

Now, she can’t deny that seeing Quinn Fabray for the second time in twenty years hasn’t made her feel something. It’s made her feel more than her husband has been able to make her feel throughout the span of their marriage.

It feels like an ending and a beginning.

“I know,” Rachel tells him as she strips herself of her clothing.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been on a Blam kick lately, which will explain the beginning section of this chapter. 
> 
> As usual, comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> Enjoy and thanks for reading :)

**III.**

Under normal circumstances, Rachel would’ve called Santana. 

They had their issues with one another during their McKinley days, mainly of the bullying variety. But for most of Rachel’s adult life, she has considered the woman to be her best friend. After working with Brittany and Santana on and off Broadway, it was hard to not have them in her life.

For many reasons, Rachel attempted to keep her friendships separate from her marriage. The only time they would intersect was when it came to Nate and Ashley. If a babysitter wasn't available, Brody would drop them off at the Lopez-Pierce residence without question. 

Rachel loves her friends and trusts them with her life. They know Rachel in ways that the diva never expected them to when they were teenagers.

That lone reason is why she doesn’t call Santana or Brittany about this.

Instead, she finds herself confiding in someone far removed from the entire situation. Someone who won’t judge her for what she’s done. For what she may or may not want to do.

Blaine meets her at Central Park. It’s a gorgeous day for October, so she had suggested they head to the Upper East Side for an afternoon walk. Something about the open space is comforting to Rachel while the rest of the city can be relatively claustrophobic. 

You can take the girl out of Ohio and all that. 

“I was surprised you called,” the younger man says when he arrives. He smiles, scratching at his dark, full beard. “We don’t usually do this.”

Blaine looks good for his late thirties. The few strands of gray curly hair poking out of his head are doing wonders for him. In a few years, Rachel is positive he’ll be a right silver fox.

Rachel nods regretfully. “Well, I thought we could start,” she indicates with her hands. “I know I’ve been closer with Kurt in the past, but I hope you know I consider you a good friend too, Blaine.”

“Well, thanks Rachel,” the curly haired man beams. “I’d love to hang with you more. As long as I can steal you away for karaoke night every once in a while.”

Rachel actually chuckles at that. It’s a stark difference to all the crying she’s been doing as of late.

Blaine had a few successful stints on Broadway after graduating from NYADA. But after a while, he found that running his own business was his true passion. Once he saved up enough funds, he and a few fellow actors opened up a bar slash performance spot in the West Village. 

Rachel had frequented the spot many times since it opened. She thought Blaine had really created something special. Kurt though, never seemed thrilled with his husband’s constant late nights.

“Do you and Kurt still break out into song like you used to?” Rachel asks. She then gets distracted by a father and his two children throwing a frisbee along their trail. 

She had once longed for something stable like that. Things change, she’s realized.

Because her attention is elsewhere, she doesn’t see Blaine’s face drop. “Actually, Kurt and I haven’t been doing much of anything lately.”

That genuinely surprises Rachel. Blaine and Kurt’s marriage was always something she marveled at, despite her inability to have a relationship akin to theirs. 

Rachel asks him why, sensing that her friend needs to confide in someone just as much as she does.

“I sort of,” he sighs, his guilt palpable. “Caught up with someone when we were in Lima.”

Rachel’s eyes practically fall out of her head.

“You slept with someone?”

Blaine places a hand on Rachel’s shoulder. 

“No, nothing like that,” he assures. “But truthfully, Kurt and I have been drifting apart for a while now. It just took spending time with someone else for me to realize why.”

Rachel wasn’t expecting this at all when she called Blaine, and told him as much. 

“Are you going to get a divorce?” she asks in a small voice, trying to be as supportive of her friend as possible.

“I don’t know,” he tells her honestly. “But it wouldn’t be fair to stay together if Kurt and I are unhappy. I always told myself I wouldn't be one of those Dads who stays in a marriage for the sake of their kid.”

Rachel understands him more than he knows.

“I’m going through quite the similar thing, Blaine,” Rachel tells him. “Well, sort of.”

Blaine gives Rachel his full attention when she tells him she’s most likely divorcing Brody. Although she left out the part where she and her wayward husband had goodbye sex before phoning their respective lawyers. 

They decided a separation would do for now, at least until the paperwork comes through. Blaine doesn't seem the least surprised by the news.

“Not to be unkind or anything, Rach, but I can’t say I didn’t see that coming,” Blaine tells her through a sympathetic smile. “I haven’t seen you happy in a long time.”

The diva nodded, because really, what were she and Brody doing all these years? They spent most of their days apart and hardly spoke otherwise, despite having their background in theatre in common.

In every other aspect, they were oil and water. 

Their conversations over the course of their relationship consisted of mostly coordinating. Who was picking the kids up from school, who was bringing Nate to soccer practice, who was taking Ashley to ballet on Saturday mornings.

It was a dance they had since perfected when Rachel got pregnant with Nate, but it was one that hardly made Rachel happy. She doubted Brody was thrilled about their situation either, but they made it work as best they could.

They wanted to give their kids great lives, but you can’t fake love if it isn’t there. Rachel knows that better than anyone.

“It’s for the best,” she ends up telling Blaine. “Brody and I haven’t felt connected in a really long time. If ever.”

There must be something in her voice, and Blaine picks up on it.

“But you’ve felt that way with someone else, haven’t you?”

“I-How did you—” Rachel stutters, trailing off.

Blaine shrugs and stuffs his hands into his sweatshirt pocket. The man abandoned the bow ties and sweater vests a long time ago and opted for the occasional hoodie every once in a while. 

The diva thought he seemed more relaxed this way.

“You’re not the only one, Rachel,” the man says, placing a hand onto the older girl’s arm. “At the reunion, Sam and I—”

“Sam? _Evans?”_

Rachel doesn’t mean for it to come out as harshly as it does. She tries to keep the judgment out of her voice, and really it isn't that. 

It’s that Blaine is going through the exact same thing she is. It’s _relief_.

Because at least she knows she’ll have one person who won’t judge her in the future. For what, exactly, Rachel hasn’t decided yet.

“Yeah, Sam Evans,” Blaine explains. “I had such a huge crush on him in senior year. I didn't know until recently that he felt the same way about me.”

Now that she thinks about it, it kind of makes sense. Kurt was in New York at the time and Blaine was still in Lima, where he and Sam became good friends.

The wistful expression that forms on her friend’s face is so full of affection, tears threaten to well up in her eyes.

“Is Sam _it_ for you, Blaine?”

The man nods.

“He is. He makes me feel extraordinary, Rachel. And so incredibly alive when I’m with him,” the curly haired man gushes. “I really thought what Kurt and I had was the real thing, but I was wrong.”

That throws Rachel for a loop. Because what he is describing just so happens to be how Rachel feels when she’s around Quinn Fabray.

“Does Sam feel the same way about you?”

“I think he does,” he responds, walking around someone who nearly bumps into him. “We’ve been texting a bunch since the reunion. I think Kurt is starting to get suspicious.”

Rachel mulls that over for a moment.

“What are you going to do, Blaine?”

“I’m going to be happy, Rach,” Blaine tells her. “No matter what it takes.”

Maybe it’s time Rachel does the same.

* * *

After talking to Blaine (leaving out the particulars on her end), Rachel tries to contact Quinn again. Unfortunately for the diva, every attempt to reach out goes unanswered. 

**_Berry (11:13am):_ ** _Quinn, I am sorry if I made you uncomfortable the other day. We should talk. Please text me back at your earliest convenience._

 **_Berry (3:44pm):_ ** _Hello. Understandably, you are likely busy with your book tour, so I will keep this short. I finally got around to reading the novel and you really are such an exquisite writer, Quinn. I found myself identifying with the love interest, Maggie. She surely has ambition similar to mine, and I happen to admire that in a woman. Not that I think about women much, or anything._

 **_Berry (3:47pm):_ ** _I do happen to be the lead in a musical at the moment and my love interest just so happens to be a woman. I wanted to tell you that at the coffee shop before I shot myself in the foot._

 **_Berry (3:52pm):_ ** _Prior to a few weeks ago, I had never kissed another woman before. It turned out to be satisfactory. Her lips were really delicate, so I can see the appeal. I’m sure that’s something of a perk of being a lesbian, huh?_

 **_Berry (4:04pm):_ ** _Anyway, I hope you’re well. And again, I’m sorry for the way we left things when we last saw one another. I’ll stop pestering you._

 **_Berry (9:01pm):_ ** _Hello, it’s me again. I’m getting kind of worried, since you haven’t returned any of my calls, texts or emails._

 **_Berry (9:13pm):_ ** _I know your phone isn’t off, because these messages are marked as delivered. If you don’t wish to speak to me, that’s fine, but please at least let me know you’re alright, Quinn. And I’ll leave you alone, as difficult as that may prove to be._

Rachel is in the middle of calling Quinn a sixth time when she finally picks up. Before Rachel has the chance to speak, someone other than Quinn cuts her off.

 _“Quinn is busy,”_ a vocally sterile woman says. _“She told me to politely ask that you stop calling, Ms. Berry.”_

The diva is dejected instantly, but slips into the role of authoritative actress. If Rachel is one thing, it is persistent. She isn’t going to give up now.

“And who may I be speaking with?”

 _“Her agent and publicist,”_ the woman mentions with a snarl.

“And your first and surname please?”

The woman pauses, wondering why a famous Broadway and film actress is asking for her information. 

_“Victoria Burns,”_ she mumbles, a bit of nervousness now lining her tone. _“Why do you need my info, Ms. Berry?”_

“I happen to be family friends with some of your superiors. You know Mark Lindenburg, I presume? Figured I’d send a kind word along,” Rachel tells her sweetly. 

The line is silent for a moment.

Before long, Victoria is babbling apologies and other pertinent information. _Very_ pertinent, especially to Rachel.

“Thank you Ms. Burns,” Rachel smiles wildly in her dressing room. “You’ve been a great help.”

Rachel hangs up the phone before Victoria can respond and places it on the vanity. She leans back in the chair and the gears begin turning.

* * *

Rachel gets to work on the ride back to her place following a long day of rehearsal.

Granted, the trip is much shorter and a lot less expensive now that she isn’t traveling to and from New Jersey. Her new high end apartment is about fifteen blocks from the theatre and has plenty of space, which helped solidify Rachel’s decision to sign the lease.

Rachel made sure to get a flat with four bedrooms. Two so Nate and Ashley have their own rooms when they’re over on weekends, an office, and a master bedroom. 

Brody opted to stay in their New Jersey home so the children didn’t have to uproot their entire lives to Manhattan on short notice. They had already gone through several years of elementary school in their suburban district, so there was no good reason to pull them out and have them reintegrate somewhere else. 

She and Brody worked out that the kids would spend Monday through Friday with their father. They’d attend school and Rachel would pick them up on Friday nights and drop them back off on Sunday evenings.

Rachel and Brody sat Ashley and Nate down and explained why they were separating as best they could. It wasn’t easy, but it needed to be done.

“This doesn't change the fact that we love you both very much,” Rachel had told them. Luckily they both seemed to understand, as well as kids could. Rachel wanted to keep them close for a while, just in case. “Mommy and Daddy just won’t be living in the same house anymore.”

Now that she’s settled, the diva feels as though she can finally breathe again. Like her career isn’t the only thing that is hers anymore.

She looks around her newly decorated living room and really _smiles_ for the first time in twelve years.

* * *

Rachel’s train pulls into New Haven at 11am sharp. David had allowed Rachel a few personal days off from rehearsal, despite _A Rip in Time_ ’s opening night rapidly approaching. The diva was newly separated from her husband, and the Director didn’t want his star to have any emotional duress while she's performing.

Little does David know, Rachel is dedicating her personal days to something else.

Once she’s purchased her MetroNorth pass online, she catches a train to New Haven. There was a time where one of those passes sat in a drawer in Rachel’s apartment, unused. But she tries not to think about missed opportunities and lost time. 

The diva has only one thing on her mind.

Get Quinn Fabray to talk to her. 

And thanks to a chatty Victoria Burns, Rachel knew exactly what pseudonym Quinn was using on her book tour. A few quick Google searches later, Rachel had called in some favors and found out exactly where Quinn would be on which day.

Once the train pulls into the station, Rachel takes a short bus ride to The Yale Bookstore, where Quinn is. When she arrives at the space, she takes a deep breath in anticipation of what’s to come.

She knows Quinn is likely to scowl upon seeing Rachel. But luckily the train ride had given her ample time to think of counterpoints to all of the blonde’s deflections.

This all felt so high school to Rachel. Part of her was thrilled by it, to return to the determined girl she was back then. Being with Brody had chipped away parts of herself she hadn’t realized she’d lost until it was too late.

But maybe it isn’t too late. 

When Rachel steps into the bookstore, she’s hit with a wave of _something._ She hears a familiar sultry voice that stops her in her tracks. It hits her square in the chest and she swallows thickly.

Because of course Quinn would do a dramatic reading of her novel at her alma mater. And a risqué part of the narrative, no less.

Rachel stands off to the side as a large crowd of Yale students and faculty are gathered around listening intently to Lucy Fabray. Rachel doesn’t know how long Quinn speaks for, but she is absolutely mesmerized by the blonde’s silky speech. 

The diva hardly knows what Quinn is saying, but she’s sure of one thing.

Rachel Berry finds Quinn Fabray so incredibly attractive and always has. 

There is no doubt about it now.

Which is why when the crowd applauds and Quinn heads into a sectioned off space in the back, Rachel cuts through and meets her there.

The blonde is mid conversation with someone who is most likely an old Professor when she spots Rachel. Quinn is the epitome of a deer in headlights and quickly excuses herself from the older gentleman.

“Rachel,” Quinn says in a harsh tone. “How did you-?”

“I may have coerced your Manager slash Publicist into telling me where you were going to be this afternoon,” Rachel tells her, looking at her feet. “Since you failed to mention that your tour was very hush hush.”

“I thought I had made it relatively obvious that I don’t want to see you.” Quinn sighs deeply and pinches the bridge of her nose. “What do you want, Rachel?”

Rachel is silent for a few moments. She takes in the fact that she’s standing in front of the blonde again for the third time in as many months. The diva wants to reach out and touch her, but she realizes that probably won’t be received well.

She remembers her conversation with Blaine. And all of the preparation for hurricane Quinn on the train ride there.

“I left my husband,” Rachel blurts, balling her hands into fists to ground herself.

Quinn’s mouth practically drops open when she faces the brunette again. She’s reticent for about a full minute and Rachel is incredibly impatient.

_Say something. Please._

“Did you come all the way here to tell me that?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I—” Rachel starts, then shuts her mouth. 

She’s positively stumped at Quinn’s inquiry. Through all of the planning and plotting that went into this trip, she didn’t _actually_ think of what she was going to say. She just wanted to see the blonde. Be close to her. “I don’t know.”

Quinn walks away again and doesn’t look back.

* * *

_A Rip in Time_ ’s opening night is scheduled in two month’s time and the cast and crew are a wreck. 

Erin missed her mark, tripped and kissed Rachel’s shoulder instead of her lips. Mark, who plays Amelia’s brother, forgot a verse in his only solo of the musical, the one he’s been rehearsing since late August. A set design piece nearly fell on one of the members of the Chorus.

And that was all before 9am.

David had given the cast a ten minute break in lieu of all the chaos ensuing on stage. He parked himself on the edge of it and motioned for Rachel to join him.

“This is a disaster,” he sighs, running a hand between his thinning black hair. 

The man couldn’t be much older than Rachel, but the bags under his eyes age him considerably. The diva doesn’t envy her Director. He’s had to work incredibly hard to get here, and if the musical goes under, his budding career will too.

Rachel doesn’t know what to say to make it better, so she just listens as David airs his grievances.

“I know I haven’t been focused, David, and I’m incredibly sorry about that,” Rachel tells him. “I just—there’s something I don’t understand.”

“What’s that, Ms. Berry?”

Rachel plants both hands, palms down on the stage.

“Constance obviously feels that Amelia should let the patient go in Act Three. Why does she continue performing CPR on him? He’s dead by that point, isn’t he?”

“Because Ms. Berry,” David smiles proudly, like he had hoped someone would pick up on this aspect of his script. “Constance loves Amelia. She knows that if she stops trying to save Ethan, that it’ll crush Amelia’s spirit. Unfortunately, that happens anyway, but Constance wants to spare her.”

Rachel shakes her head, as if to clear it.

“It’s that simple?”

“Well that and because she’s in love with her,” David points out. 

Rachel looks away, so the man takes that as a cue to continue speaking.

“Sometimes people do things that don’t necessarily align with their desires for the ones they love,” the man says, placing a friendly hand on Rachel’s shoulder. When the diva still doesn’t answer, David hops off the stage. “Look, why don’t you take five, Rachel? Let that sink in a bit and we’ll go again when the others return.”

She nods almost catatonically. He exits through the back door while Rachel remains stock-still on the edge of the stage.

Her heartbeat races as she thinks back to her almost teen wedding to Finn Hudson. To Quinn Fabray in a Cheerios uniform, asking her if she was singing to him and only him. 

She remembers her slight nod in confusion. 

She remembers Quinn telling her she wanted to come to the wedding, despite her declaration at the bridal shop. That she wouldn’t watch Rachel ruin her life by marrying Finn Hudson.

Quinn Fabray’s actions suddenly make much more sense to Rachel Berry. She may have known that the blonde had a crush on her in high school, but not until now did Rachel know what that meant.

_But crushes don’t practically beg you not to marry the boyfriend you’ve been dating for two years, right?_

And so what if Rachel _potentially_ has a small crush on Quinn now? 

The diva can admit she’s attracted to the blonde and has since decided that kissing girls is somewhat favorable. And that she’s curious about what Quinn Fabray’s lips feel like. 

It wouldn’t be a big deal if Rachel was crushing on Quinn. She _does_ have eyes. 

But then again, someone who simply has a crush doesn't tell Finn Hudson what type of corsage to get his then girlfriend, Quinn Fabray, on prom night. _Not when you’re supposed to still like him_ , Rachel thinks _._

Someone with a crush doesn’t go after Quinn Fabray when both of her ex-boyfriends get into a fight and subsequently kicked out of prom.

Someone with a crush doesn't hesitate to get married because Quinn Fabray hasn’t arrived yet.

Someone with a crush doesn't shiver when Quinn Fabray undresses her on balconies.

Someone with a crush doesn’t kiss Quinn Fabray back when the blonde’s lips slide against hers in the hot tub on said balcony. 

Even if she _was_ heavily intoxicated and didn’t remember it until now.

The realization hits Rachel like a tidal wave, crashing over her before she gets a chance to come up for air. 

She can hardly breathe when the years of memories flood back from high school. Rachel feels like she’s had a blindfold over her eyes for so long and has finally lifted it, seeing everything clearly for the first time.

“Oh, God,” Rachel whispers, bringing her shaky fingers to her lips. They feel like they burn from where she remembers Quinn meeting them with her soft, talented mouth.

Coupled with the fact that the blonde wasn’t talking to her, things just got a lot more complicated for Rachel Berry.

* * *

Rachel lets her epiphany marinate in her mind for three weeks.

She liked Quinn Fabray. _Likes_ her. And has for a long time too, it seems.

How could she have been so clueless? 

Deep down, she’s aware of the how of it all. 

She’s incredibly frightened of her feelings for the blonde. And now that they’re properly realized, she has no idea what to do with them.

Especially because Quinn refuses to talk to her. Even if the blonde was up for normal conversation, Rachel doubts this is one that would happen amicably.

Instead of continuing to muck it all up, Rachel’s decided to respect the blonde’s wishes and leave her be. It’s what she should’ve done in the first place, but Rachel knows herself. She can’t stay away from the blonde now as much as she couldn’t stay away from her in high school.

But she forces herself to, because Rachel doesn’t know what she’d say to Quinn now, if she had the opportunity. 

“Hey by the way, I just realized that I’ve had feelings for you for over two decades?” 

_Like that would work._

Plus there’s all of her residual feelings she needs to unpack.

Does this mean she’s bisexual? Pansexual? Is Quinn the only girl she’s capable of having feelings for? 

Her attraction to men is the only thing she’s sure of, but the rest? 

Well.

In the midst of all of this, Rachel tries to juggle rehearsals, time with her kids and her social life, all while struggling with these ever present thoughts. 

It’s proving to be difficult, to say the least.

Her mind is full to the brim, as is her wine glass when Rachel hears three light knocks on her apartment door. She’s sitting at the kitchen table, and furrows her brow because she has no idea who could possibly want to visit her at this hour.

Alcoholic beverage in hand, Rachel saunters over to the door, unlocks and swings it open.

Revealing one exhausted looking Quinn Fabray. 

“Can I come in?”

Rachel nods, letting the blonde cross the threshold and trying not to look as stunned as she feels.

Quinn removes her light coat and places it on the back of the couch. She fixes the beanie perched on her head a few times. 

The blonde surveys the loft, seeming to look for something, which eventually she seems to find.

“You’ve done well for yourself, Berry,” she tells her, echoing Rachel’s words from months ago. 

“How’d you find me?”

“You’re not the only one with pull,” Quinn tells her coyly.

Rachel is honestly impressed, but has no idea how to behave around the blonde. Her body keeps reacting to Quinn of its own volition. 

It’s as if now that she’s clued into all of these feelings that have been hidden beneath the surface, she can’t unsee them.

“Can I get you something to drink?” she asks to ease her own tension.

“No thank you,” the blonde says politely, “But I was hoping we could talk.”

“No running away this time?” Rachel jabs, and Quinn just chuckles sardonically. 

“I’ll do what I can.”

Rachel tosses back the rest of her wine and guides Quinn to the balcony at the other end of the apartment. 

It’s decently sized and decorated with a few pieces of furniture, two end tables, and a fire pit. Rachel’s luxury apartment overlooks the Manhattan skyline, still illuminated by all the glowing buildings in the distance. 

“The kids are asleep,” Rachel provides as an explanation and leans on the guardrail.

Quinn hums, and mirrors the action.

Rachel can’t help but think Quinn is ethereal like this. Lit by only moonlight and the glow radiating from the fire pit. 

The brunette thinks back to the last time the two of them were on a balcony together. 

She remembers Quinn sensually peeling off her dress. 

Her careful touches. 

Her feverous breath against her skin.

The way her lips felt against Rachel’s.

How she desperately wants to taste them again.

Before Rachel can even form a coherent sentence, Quinn whispers, "I lied.”

Rachel’s so focused on Quinn’s lips that she’s caught off guard by the sound of her voice. The blonde is looking at the dark sky while she speaks. The diva knows she’s saying something important, so she refocuses.

Rachel clears her throat. 

“About what?”

Quinn turns to Rachel fully, looking absolutely terrified. But the blonde presses on.

“I lied to you, the night of the reunion,” she trembles. “I didn't have a crush on you in high school, Rachel. I - I was in love with you."

Rachel had no idea what Quinn was there to say when she showed up on her doorstep, but she certainly wasn’t expecting _that._

The air between them crackles.

“You were,” Rachel says, practically shivering and not from the fall breeze. “Y - You were in love with me?”

“Yes.”

Rachel doesn’t think. She just can’t fathom any of this being within the realm of possibility. Not for her.

Maybe it’s because her thoughts have been bouncing around in her head like a rogue tennis ball. 

Or maybe it’s the alcohol clouding her judgment.

With a shaky hand, Rachel lifts Quinn's chin so she can read her expression fully. She almost doesn’t say anything, too lost in flecks of hazel. Eventually she murmurs, "And now?"

Quinn gently places her hand around Rachel’s wrist. It’s electric. "You can't ask me that,” she shudders, tears forming in her eyes and a pained expression donning her countenance.

“Quinn.”

Rachel finds herself leaning into the blonde, more than ready to taste her once again. Her feelings for Quinn Fabray are so new, so raw and _real_ and she wants to dive in. Rachel wants to show her that she feels something. 

She feels _everything._

The diva wants to jump off the proverbial cliff and into the deep end. She needs this, she needs—

But she suddenly feels a palm on her chest, hindering her completely. When she glances at Quinn again, her features have hardened once again and Rachel knows that she’s truly fucked up.

Only this time, she doesn’t know if they can come back from it. 

If Rachel can either.

"You do _not_ get to decide you want me while your marriage is in shambles,” she spews out, separating herself fully from Rachel. “I think you’re a little too old to be experimenting.”

Quinn is about to walk off again, but Rachel has the feeling that if she lets her go this time, it’ll be for good.

“Quinn, please,” Rachel practically begs, her voice small as she follows her into the apartment and to the front door. “Please don’t leave. You said you wouldn’t this time.”

Quinn just shakes her head. “You just don’t get it, do you, Berry?”

The diva _doesn’t_ get it, and she tells Quinn as much.

This time when Quinn leaves, Rachel understands why she slams the door on her way out.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know I said this story would be four chapters long, but I fibbed. This chapter is also longer than the others. :)
> 
> Rachel has a lot to work through and it felt inorganic to rush an ending. These idiots really do yearn so much.
> 
> Anyways, here’s the latest installment. As always, comments and kudos are always welcomed and appreciated. x

* * *

**IV.**

Rachel is exhausted.

When Santana rings her the morning after, she grumbles in between her sheets and reaches for the blaring device. As soon as she hits the appropriate button, she gets an earful of former Cheerio in her ear.

“What did you do, Berry?” her best friend asks her. Santana sounds angry and exasperated, which alludes Rachel to only one thing.

Quinn must’ve told Santana what happened. 

It’s a Sunday morning and the diva is just waking up from broken sleep, the blonde’s words keeping her tossing and turning most of the night.

She needs a minute to sit up and collect her bearings. So Rachel does, clearing her throat in the process.

“Pardon?” 

There’s some shuffling around before the diva gets another earful.

“Imagine my surprise when I hear from Quinn Fabray after fifteen years of radio silence,” Santana spits through the line. The two of them hardly spoke at the reunion before Quinn and Rachel ducked out to the blonde’s hotel room. 

Now that Rachel thinks about it, she hadn’t seen blonde talk to anyone else at the event. “Didn’t you fuck her up enough in high school?”

Rachel balks at that. Weren’t they the ones who bullied _her_ at Mckinley? It took Rachel years to work through the fact that a daily slushie facial was less about her and more about her tormentors. 

Regardless, her high school experience affected her in ways she hasn’t fully analyzed in a long time. She had toned down her personality exponentially once she started NYADA, but even there she had encountered people like Cassandra July who had continually tried to knock her down a few pegs. 

Rachel Berry had been ripped apart in so many ways that the idea that she had fucked anyone up, let alone Quinn Fabray, was beyond her.

The diva tells Santana as much.

“Open the door.”

“What?”

“Just do it, midget,” Santana sighs defeatedly.

If Rachel didn’t know her best friend inside and out at this point, she’d assume Santana was insulting her. But she knows better now, and her friend has shown she cares about Rachel over the course of their relationship. 

If she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have made her Camilla’s godmother. 

Rachel places her phone between her shoulder and her ear and stalks out of her bedroom. She pulls a throw blanket from the couch and places it over her shoulders before heading to the front door of her flat. 

Surely enough, she finds one Santana Lopez-Pierce waiting outside.

“You look like shit.”

Rachel rolls her eyes and hangs up when Santana pushes through her apartment.

“Good morning to you too, Santana,” Rachel offers sardonically, following her friend into the living room. 

“So Quinn Fabray, huh?” Santana mutters as she plops down on the couch adjacent to Rachel. “The first person you decide to dive into sapphic waters with, while you’re on the rebound no less, is the formerly repressed head cheerleader. You couldn’t have chosen literally anyone else, Berry?”

Rachel huffs, about to defend herself, but thinks better of it. 

Is Santana right? Is Rachel on the rebound from her marriage?

“It’s not like that, Santana,” Rachel chooses to say. “I really care about Quinn. You know I always have.”

Rachel debates shining a light on her newly realized feelings. She’s incredibly confused, but maybe actually saying the words out loud to someone she trusts may help her sort them out. 

Before the opportunity actually presents itself though, Santana continues with a snarl.

“Last time I checked, you weren’t gay,” she says, checking her cuticles. “On this side of the fence, it kinda looks like you’re using Quinn to get over your marriage and fulfill some high school fantasy.”

Rachel shakes her head and her voice comes out tiny. 

“Do you really think so little of me, San?” Santana opens her mouth slightly, then closes it. “I don’t know what Quinn told you, but she isn’t a rebound. I’ve been unfulfilled in my marriage for years. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that.”

“Rachel, come on. For most of your life you’ve defined your successes by your leading man. You tried to find him in Finn, Jesse, Puck, and then Brody. Even that one guy David in junior year when you and bikini wax were on a break,” Santana mentions. “You’ve been searching for this frankly unattainable guy since I’ve known you. So forgive me if it’s difficult for me to wrap my head around all of this.”

Rachel can’t take the bite of Santana’s words, so she does the safe thing and deflects.

“Quinn had no right to tell you about what happened between us,” the diva snarls, getting up from the couch and moving toward the large window at the other side of the living room. “We were drunk and we just...”

Santana’s eyebrow curls at that. The action reminds Rachel of Quinn and her heart flutters.

“Blondie didn’t give details,” Santana tells her. “But it doesn’t take a genius to work out what she was talking about.”

Rachel sighs, distressed and places her palms over her eyes, rubbing at them gently.

“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you Berry?”

Rachel takes a hard, inquisitive look at her friend. When she finds that Santana’s words aren’t said maliciously, it’s all it takes for the diva to break down.

She shakes her head and the tears come freely. Rachel throws her arms around her best friend, who does her best to console her.

In between her hiccuping sobs and Santana rubbing her arms as affectionately as she can, the diva tells her everything, from the beginning. 

Santana’s eyes widen at most of the detail thrown her way, but is generally impressed that Rachel has held it together thus far. Santana knows that she and Brittany haven’t always gotten it right. In fact, it took them a really long time to get to where they are.

To know what they both wanted.

Santana doesn’t know if things are the same for Quinn and Rachel, but with the way those two continue to gravitate toward one another, she thinks they might be. 

Fuck knows, they’ve done this dance long enough. 

“Look, Rachel, I'm not going to tell you what to do,” Santana says once Rachel’s tears have slowed. “But you’re not going to figure this out if you keep pushing. Have you even given yourself time to process your divorce?”

Rachel bites the corner of her bottom lip, because no, she hasn’t. She keeps trying, but her head has been a mess as of late. The diva pulls the blanket tighter around her shoulders and shakes her head.

“Despite my seemingly accurate suspicion that you do happen to bat for this side of the team, you’re going through so many life changes at once. It makes sense that your feelings are all muddled up.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Rachel nods, and laughs weakly. “When did you get so wise?”

“It’s all my wife’s doing,” Santana smirks. “I’d kinda be useless without her.”

“You have a point there,” Rachel tosses her way, and receives a shove to the shoulder for it. “Maybe I do need a break. I just - I need to know.”

Santana quirks an eyebrow.

“What you said earlier,” she starts with trepidation. “You knew Quinn was in love with me in high school, didn’t you?”

Santana grimaces, but ultimately nods. “It was hard not to notice the way she looked at you.”

Rachel feels foolish for never picking up on Quinn’s feelings. But maybe things were always meant to unfold this way.

“I just don’t understand why she couldn’t tell me the truth.”

“I don’t think Quinn ever thought you’d return her feelings,” Santana frowns and pauses for a moment, debating whether to ask her this or not. “Do you have feelings for Quinn?”

Rachel grips the end of the couch with anxious fingers. She gives herself the space to finally say the words aloud for the first time, “I’m starting to believe I do.”

* * *

After they converse for a while, Santana insists the diva brew a pot of coffee. It’s an ungodly hour and her children aren’t awake yet, so Rachel is inclined to oblige. 

When they both are sufficiently caffeinated, Santana speaks again.

“I saw Quinn,” Santana sighs, her fingers squeezing her mug that sits atop the kitchen island. “Did you know she was married to some famous, drop dead gorgeous artist?”

Rachel swallows down the hint of jealousy she has no right to feel. “I knew she was married previously, but I didn’t quite get the details.”

Santana pulls up a photo from her phone and hands it over to Rachel who winces. “Wow, you weren’t kidding.”

Rachel suddenly feels like she can’t ever be good enough for Quinn Fabray. Her looks were something she had always been judged for in her youth, and that hasn’t ceased now that she’s nearing her forties.

The insecurities wrap around her like a blanket.

“They were married for thirteen years.”

Rachel practically spits out her coffee. She and Brody would have been coming up on their tenth anniversary if they hadn’t separated. “Do you happen to know why they split?”

Rachel doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath.

“You,” Santana mutters, a bit gravely. “It was always you for her, Berry.”

* * *

Rachel is exhausted from her talk with Santana, and decides to take some long overdue time to herself.

A couple of weeks before opening night probably isn’t the best time to be taking a break, but luckily David has been incredibly understanding about the whole thing. Rachel and Erin have their parts down really well, so he isn’t worried that their performances will suffer. There are a few kinks in the show that need to be ironed out that don’t necessarily require the diva to be present.

Rachel hasn’t been single since...well, forever, and she needs to figure out who she is outside of Broadway, her marriage and motherhood. But she can hardly do that without pinpointing where she went wrong.

She starts by thinking about her relationships. Three people in particular come to mind.

When she was in high school, Rachel had thought she found her leading man in Finn Hudson. He was the Quarterback of the football team, had a big heart and a voice that matched hers decently. At the time, Finn seemed like the perfect package and made the diva feel lucky to be in his orbit. 

She genuinely thought they were meant to be at the time, but once she left Ohio and discovered she had the world at her fingertips, she found that she and Finn wanted different things out of life. Now that she thinks back on it, he never could keep up with her in the ways that mattered. 

Finn Hudson was always a small town boy, and that is okay. 

For him. Never for Rachel Berry.

Brody was a different story. 

Rachel got wrapped up in him as soon as she got to New York City. He was beautiful, talented, charming and helped her navigate a new, exciting life at NYADA. After a few months of casual dating, Rachel found that the man had kept secrets from her—secrets that she overlooked. 

Because no matter what red flags came up, Brody Weston looked great on her arm. And even better on paper, which is mostly why Rachel had stayed with him.

It wasn’t so much that Brody being a sex worker to pay the bills trifled Rachel. No, it was the fact that he had lied to her about his whereabouts. It made Rachel suspicious and incredibly intimidated due to her lack of experience in the bedroom. 

Rachel and Brody weren’t as much of a whirlwind romance as she and Finn once were, but they certainly were passionate at the beginning. They had enjoyed their time together, up until Rachel booked her first Broadway gig, and they began drifting apart. 

While Rachel worked her way up the theatre totem pole, Brody was struggling. He knew that Rachel didn’t like his line of work and couldn’t find consistent acting work as easily as his girlfriend had, so he decided to pursue other avenues. 

He even took some culinary classes at a community college so he could continue contributing to their monthly expenses.

That backup career became especially handy when Rachel fell pregnant at twenty-seven. 

She had been seen at award shows with Brody for a while by that point. Shortly after Rachel brought her long time boyfriend the positive pregnancy test, Brody proposed and that was that. 

They had a small ceremony with their closest friends in attendance and Nathaniel was born months later. Once Rachel held her son in her arms, she couldn’t find it in her to regret the trajectory her life had taken. It was all worth it, because she got to have her incredible little boy, and three years later, an amazing little girl, Ashley. 

Rachel doesn’t ever look back on the opportunities her life has granted her in a negative manner. What she does regret is thinking she wasn’t enough all by herself.

She never needed Brody. 

Or Finn. 

Or a leading man at all.

 _Quinn Fabray_.

That relationship was always the hardest for Rachel to define.

Rachel always knew that there was more to Quinn Fabray than met the eye. She always felt this magnetic pull toward her, like the blonde understood Rachel at her core. 

And Rachel understood Quinn in the same way. 

It’s why she kept reaching out over and over again, until finally, towards the end of their senior year, Quinn became receptive to the diva. Rachel really felt like they were on the verge of a great friendship, but is that really where they were headed? 

Now that the diva knows that Quinn once harboured romantic feelings for her, it’s completely altered her perception of their wayward relationship.

Why did Rachel keep fighting for Quinn when she was terrible to her most of the time?

Why did Rachel ask Finn what it felt like to kiss Quinn?

Could it be possible that Rachel had been in love with Quinn while she was at Mckinley, but didn’t recognize it for what it was?

Rachel can’t help but wonder about those Metro North passes. If she and Quinn had used them, would they be together now? Would Quinn have married her now ex-wife? Would Rachel have married Brody if the blonde had remained in her life?

The movement of fingers snapping in front of Rachel’s face brings her back to reality.

“My apologies, apparently I was somewhere else,” Rachel smiles softly, leaning back into the massage chair. “What did you say?”

Miguel, who can’t be much older than thirty, is well groomed and his uniform hugs his biceps in all of the right places. His penetrating brownish blue eyes intrigue the diva, mostly in the way that his smile reaches them.

Rachel is sure she isn’t a lesbian. She’s definitely attracted to men, and is comfortable in that attraction. That isn’t the confusing aspect of all this.

“Would you like a hot towel for your hands, Ms. Berry?” Miguel repeats.

Rachel nods with a flirty grin, which she can do now that she is no longer spoken for. There’s a bit of guilt niggling at her, but she tries her best to ignore it.

Miguel places the towel over her hands and begins rubbing. Once he’s done, he places the damp cloth into a laundry bin and politely ducks out. 

But not without a smirk.

When he‘s gone, Rachel leans back into the chair and lets out a large puff of air.

So much for relaxing.

* * *

On day three of Rachel’s break, she decides to write a play. 

Nate and Ashley are on a playdate with Santana, Brittany and Camilla, so she has the apartment to herself. 

Rachel had taken a playwriting elective at NYADA and wound up really enjoying the assignments. Her Professor gave her an A+ on her final project and said it had shown some promise, so she’s taken the core idea and spun it on its head.

She spends her entire day writing and even calls in a few favours. Some big names in the business to see the plausibleness of the script garnering buzz and in turn, funding. 

One of her former Producers loves the pitch and tells Rachel to send her a draft when she’s finished.

Rachel couldn’t be more pleased, as the narrative is somewhat autobiographical. It’s another thing that’s hers.

Nobody else’s.

* * *

On day five, she takes Nate and Ashley to the playground. 

Nate loves the swings and he even pushes his sister when she’s struggling to pick up momentum on hers. 

“Mom, look how high I can go,” Ashley squeals one delight.

Rachel swings next to them, their smiling faces enough to fuel her for the day.

* * *

By day seven, Rachel can’t get Quinn out of her head. 

The blonde has loved Rachel for half of their lives. It's that thought that sends Rachel reeling.

She sprawls out over her comforter and stares at the ceiling for a while, just imagining what it’d be like to be loved by Quinn Fabray. 

Being held in Quinn’s arms.

She pays close attention to how her body reacts to that.

Her heart jumps a bit, and it feels warm everywhere down to her toes.

She imagines simply being in the blonde’s presence, not even touching her, and her skin tingles. She runs her fingers gently over the goosebumps forming on her arms, tracing circles over them.

Rachel doesn’t remember anyone ever doing that to her.

She sits up and feels her pulse, and her heart is thumping rapidly. 

If that kind of reaction can be garnered by merely thinking about Quinn Fabray, Rachel is a goner.

Rachel reaches for her phone on her end table and scrolls through her contacts. She hits send once she’s hovered over the right card.

“Can you meet me?”

* * *

“How did you know you were interested in women?”

They’re at a relatively empty dive bar in the West Village. The only reason Rachel suggested the place is because the owner, Ralph, is a fan of her work and has closed the bar off per her request. 

Well, at least to those who may recognize the diva and her blonde friend.

He’s standing behind the extended bar, drying some clean glasses with a cloth and putting them in their proper place. 

The older man has frequently given Rachel something priceless, her anonymity and space. Ralph is a no questions asked type of guy, and Rachel adores that about the burly man.

The diva attempts to hand him a few bills when he does this for her, but he refuses with a smile every time _. “Anything for you, Ms. Berry. Anything at all.”_

Rachel draws lines in her chilled glass with her pointer finger while she anxiously waits for a response from the woman opposite her.

“I think about it like a leprechaun and his pot of gold,” Brittany eventually says, sipping on a cosmopolitan through a bendy straw. Ralph initially laughed when Rachel had asked for it, but her friend appreciated the gesture all the same. Brittany doesn’t drink alcohol through a glass like, ever, and the diva knows that. “When I see something shiny, I go for it.”

Rachel nods and let’s that mull over for a while.

“Can it really be that simple?”

“It can be,” Brittany smiles sympathetically. “You’ve been a really sad leprechaun, Rachel.”

Rachel nods, basking in the truth of her words. “I have been, haven’t I?”

“Up until the reunion.” 

Rachel’s head snaps up to Brittany’s at this. “Did Santana tell you what happened?”

“No, but Quinn did come by. I figured she was there to talk to my wife about you,” the blonde says. Rachel also knows how much Brittany loves referring to Santana as her wife, even though they’ve been married for over a decade. “You two are really bad at hiding things, you know. I could teach you how to be better. I hid Lord Tubbington’s cigarettes until he kicked the habit.”

When Lord Tubbington passed away years ago, Santana had no idea how to break it to her wife. When Rachel got the phone call, the both of them decided it’d be best to spare their friend the pain of that loss. 

Well, really, they just had no idea how to break the news to Brittany.

Instead, they adopted another chubby feline that looked surprisingly like Lord Tubbington while Brittany was in rehearsal one day. The blonde never questioned why the cat had been alive for so long, probably because she believes that like all cats, he’s living out all of his nine lives.

“Quinn didn’t think anyone was looking, but I would always catch her staring at you in glee club.” Brittany takes her hand in hers before saying, “Life is short, Rach, well except if you’re Lord Tubbington. If Quinn is your pot of gold you should grab her while you still can.”

Rachel nods. Maybe Brittany is right, maybe she just needs to admit that this is something she wants and go after it.

“I used to catch you staring at Quinn too, you know,” Brittany tells her. 

“When?”

“All the time. There were very few times that your eyes weren’t glued to her.”

Rachel sighs heavily. “I was afraid you were going to say that.”

“Rach,” Brittany mutters solemnly and plops her stool next to the diva’s. The blonde throws an arm around her shoulders and the gesture instantly relaxes Rachel. There’s just something about Brittany that screams warmth. “What are you so scared of?”

“I-” Rachel exhales, short and painfully. These words are hard to think, let alone say aloud to someone else. But she’s in a better place now that she’s had some time to adjust to the fact that she may be interested in women. “I guess being with a woman was never part of my big plan.”

Brittany nods in understanding, wiping a strand of hair out of Rachel’s face, patiently waiting for her to continue.

“All I did as a teenager was plan and plan and nothing ever worked out like I expected it to,” Rachel tells her, tears threatening to fall. “I keep forcing myself to be this person I always imagined myself to be and I’m just...not.”

“Rachel, you do know that’s okay, right? There’s nothing wrong with who you are.”

“My dads are gay,” Rachel blurts, feeling terrible for thinking this way. “I’ve seen so much hate thrown their way, just because they love one another. Because they love me.”

Brittany wipes a tear from the diva’s cheek. “That must’ve been really hard. I never want that for Camilla.”

“I don’t want that for Nathaniel and Ashley, Britt, I don’t,” Rachel’s voice quivers. “I never want them to hurt because I choose to love Quinn.”

Brittany freezes. If she hadn’t, Rachel probably wouldn’t have even noticed what she’s let slip.

But if Rachel can’t be honest with herself, with Brittany, she’s never going to be happy. Not in this lifetime.

So she presses on.

“I want to try, Brittany,” Rachel whispers. “I - I think I want this. I’m just worried about the repercussions.”

“San worried about all of that stuff in high school, remember? And now look at us,” the blonde woman bounces in her seat. “You need to tell Quinn what you’re feeling. That you’re new at lady kisses and that you’re afraid to be a bicorn. She’ll help you, because she’s been there.”

Rachel just nods, soaking up all of Brittany’s wisdom. The blonde really does always know the right things to say.

“I’m sure once you get more comfortable, Quinn will be happy to be your pot of gold, Rachel,” Brittany smiles widely. “But you need to discuss all of this with her.”

Rachel looks down at her hands, dejectedly. “But she won’t talk to me, Britt.”

“She’ll come around. She always does.”

* * *

After twelve days of physical relaxation coupled with mental exhaustion, Rachel decides to go back to work. 

As much as she’s enjoyed the spa days, banging out page after page of her play, and spending quality time with her children, she needs to throw herself back into the fold. 

It’s where she feels most herself, and if she’s honest? She’s been feeling amazing since her lawyer hand delivered the divorce papers. Now that things are officially over between she and Brody, Rachel feels like she’s prepared to move on with her life. 

Even if the divorce hasn’t been finalized yet, she knows it will be soon, and that’s what matters. It feels freeing to not be tethered to someone anymore, and Rachel feels a hell of a lot lighter than she has in over a decade.

The final few rehearsals before Thanksgiving run smoothly and Rachel is thrilled to be content in at least one aspect of her life. Her voice has changed quite a bit since her twenties, but the songs from _Rip_ have been catered to the new rasp it’s developed over the past couple of years. 

Initially, the diva was devastated that her vocal chords could no longer do what they used to, but now she’s embraced it the newness of it. 

Her voice is not bad by any means, just different. 

Evolved.

Similarly to all of the other recent changes in her life.

They’re wrapping up the final scene of the day when Erin throws, “You’re pretty uptight,” over her shoulder.

“Excuse me?”

The taller woman with dark, wavy hair chuckles while taking a swig of her water bottle. They had just been rehearsing a physically challenging number, so both actresses are quite out of breath. 

“What I meant was, you seem so tense all the time,” Erin says as gently as she can. “I heard through the grapevine that you’re going through a divorce. That’s rough.”

Rachel shrugs her shoulders, not meeting her co-star’s eyes. “It’s certainly been an adjustment.”

Erin eyes her critically for a moment. “You should come out with a few of us for drinks tonight. Let loose a little.”

Rachel seriously considers it. She hasn’t gone out properly since the reunion. And some bonding time with her cast and crew couldn’t hurt. 

The diva mentally shoots off the text to Blaine, since she had babysat for him when Sam was in town a few weeks back. She had jokingly mentioned that he owed her when he returned early the next morning in the same clothes he had dropped his daughter off in.

There’s no reason to say no to Erin, so she accepts her invitation.

“Where are we going?”

* * *

A gay bar, it turns out.

Rachel has dressed up semi-formally in a shimmery midnight coloured dress, because if she was coming out, she wanted to feel secure in herself.

And she did.

The diva shut her eyes, drowning out everyone on the city sidewalk for a few moments. She felt herself inhale and exhale at a healthy pace and repeated the same inner mantra over and over again.

_You can do this._

The stress she felt prior slowly dissipates. When she opens her eyes back up again, she feels a renewed sense of purpose. 

Because tonight, Rachel Berry is going to figure out whether she is attracted to women or not.

The idea came to her while she was getting ready, and its excited her ever since. She slipped on her best heels, crimped her hair that lay over tanned shoulders and smiled at her appearance in the mirror. 

She isn’t somebody’s wife or anybody’s mother tonight. She isn’t in some weird place with Quinn Fabray here either.

Rachel Berry is just a woman and she’s going to discover something new about herself, once and for all.

The establishment is dimly lit, but lined by rainbow coloured Christmas lights. It’s a Wednesday night, so there aren’t too many patrons much to Rachel’s relief, but the place isn’t terribly empty. It’s definitely not as hustle and bustle as Blaine’s bar, so Rachel doesn’t feel too overwhelmed. The last thing she needs is to be recognized.

It’s pretty homey for a dive, all in all, except for the giant rainbow flag behind the bartender.

It mocks her.

She spots her cast-mates playing a game of pool in the back corner, and the diva grins to herself. It seems they’ve already had a bit to drink because when Erin hits the cueball, she overshoots it by a mile and nearly hits an older gentleman.

“Sorry!” But she doesn’t sound it, if her fits of laughter are any indication. “Berry! You made it.”

Erin pulls Rachel into a one armed hug, which she instantly returns. Erin is a head taller than the diva, who looks up at her and smiles. “I wouldn’t miss it.” 

Erin then tells one of the backup performers to fetch Rachel a drink of her choosing. She feels doted on and when she knocks back a vodka soda in mere minutes, Rachel hardly notices.

Rachel’s in the middle of a very intense, very alcohol fueled game of darts with Javier, the actor who plays a wounded soldier. Erin comes over and slinks her hands around her waist from behind. 

“Who’s winning?”

Rachel looks at Javier who slurs, “We were playing?”

The two women burst out laughing when something seems to catch Erin’s eye.

“Someone is checking you out.”

Rachel looks over and finds the bartender staring at her. When their eyes meet properly, the woman flashes her a smile. 

She’s a bottle redhead with olive skin and hair a little past her shoulders. Her tank top reveals toned forearms as she flips a tumbler and pours liquid into a glass.

Colour Rachel impressed.

The woman isn’t overtly feminine and Rachel is most certainly intrigued by her.

Rachel turns back to Erin.

“I’m not sure what you’re—”

“Rachel, come on,” Erin pulls away and places a hand on the diva’s shoulder. “We’re among friends. This doesn’t have to be a thing.”

“It doesn’t?”

“It’s Broadway,” Erin laughs with a drunken twinkle in her eye. “Are any of us actually straight?”

Rachel almost wishes she’d felt a spark with Erin, because it’d be so incredibly easy to simply stand on her tiptoes and crash the woman’s lips into hers. 

But things are never that easy, so Rachel takes Javier’s empty glass that’s sitting along the wall and brings it up to the bar.

“Need a refill?” the redhead asks with an effusive smile. Rachel nods politely and asks for another vodka soda, her fourth of the night. She’s feeling a wonderful buzz, but is a bit closer to belligerent than she’d like to admit. 

She most certainly isn’t able to hold her alcohol like she used.

“You look familiar,” the bartender states, while making Rachel’s drink. The diva watches her hands, but she isn’t sure if she does so because she’s enthralled or if it’s just her head swimming. 

The diva looks up at the woman, begging her not to recognize where she really knows Rachel from. 

“I get that a lot.” The bartender nods and hands Rachel her drink. “You can put that on my tab.”

The redhead bites her lip, reading Rachel, until she shakes her head.

“This one’s on the house,” the bartender smiles, placing a hand on Rachel’s. “What’s your name?”

“Nicole,” Rachel lies. “And yours?”

“Angel,” she smiles, pulling her hand back and making a drink for herself. A Gin and Tonic. Rachel takes a swig of her own drink and hums. Angel is a magnificent mixologist.

“Well Angel, thank you very much for my drink.”

“Anything for a beautiful woman,” she replies and Rachel’s face pinks at the compliment.

When Angel finishes making her drink, she quickly downs half of it and whispers something to the barback. She then walks to the other side of the bar, meeting Rachel.

“Would you like to dance?”

Rachel nervously nods. When the two women pass Erin, who is sitting on top of a stranger, she gets an enthusiastic thumbs up.

* * *

Angel had put a few quarters into the jukebox, which is now playing some pop from twenty years ago.

The music pumps through the speakers and Rachel has the sudden urge to sing at the top of her lungs. Her cast mates begin moving to the beat, making a show of themselves, but she stays rooted to where she is at the centre of the relatively crowded dance floor.

She’d rather keep herself relatively anonymous if she can help it.

“You’re gorgeous,” the redhead tells Rachel, their bodies close and shifting closer as the bass thrums through the speakers.

“Thank you,” is all Rachel can think to say, but she’s charmed. She takes in Angel’s feature objectively and finds that the woman really is extremely attractive. “So are you.”

The drinks she had consumed throughout the night rid Rachel of most of her surrounding thoughts. She’s trying to ground herself in the present, but every time Angel touches her, the diva can’t help but wish it were someone else.

  
Someone a little more blonde, to be exact.

But Rachel pushes those thoughts away. She places her hands on top of the redhead’s shoulders and around her neck. The diva then runs a hand down her back and rests it on Angel’s hip.

Angel exhales heavily and leans into Rachel ever so slightly. Their bodies continue to move to the music, and that’s when Rachel feels it. The feeling she’s been both dreading and hoping for.

She wants to kiss Angel. 

Her breath hitches just thinking about her lips on the other woman’s. Thinking of touching her all over while their mouths fail to separate.

But amid all of those thoughts, is one that outweighs everything her body wants right now. It’s shouting at her, begging her to stop.

Because Angel the bartender isn’t Quinn Fabray.

Rachel wants nothing more than to be kissing Angel, but would very much rather be kissing Quinn Fabray. So Rachel pulls back and apologizes to the other woman profusely.

“I’m really sorry,” she tells the woman one more time, but can’t help the wide grin taking over her features. 

Angel nods and probably assumes that Rachel is having some sort of gay panic. But it’s quite the opposite and the diva couldn’t be more relieved.

She closes her tab at the bar quickly and seeks out Erin to say goodbye. Her co-star is practically eating someone else’s mouth, but at Rachel’s presence, separates from them momentarily.

Rachel smacks a firm kiss onto Erin’s cheek and hugs her tightly before muttering, “Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Rachel exits the bar with a skip in her step, knowing exactly what she needs to do. 


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> This chapter was my Everest, so my apologies for it taking a little longer than usual.
> 
> There will be a short epilogue following this final installment, so look out for that. 
> 
> Thanks for coming along this ride with me, and as usual, comments and kudos are appreciated!

**V.**

“That was a very long winded way of telling us you’re interested in women,” Blaine says, his forehead wrinkled from too much information being directed at him at once.

While the four children are playing in Nate’s room, the adults chat over wine in the living room. The diva had called an emergency meeting, eager to tell Blaine, Santana and Brittany of her newest developments, and wound up going on a fifteen minute long rant.

“Did you even take a breath?” Santana balks, sinking further into the comfortable couch. “I can’t say I’ve missed your verbosity, Berry. It’s exhausting.”

“Stop being so mean guys,” Brittany tells her wife and good friend, placing a loving hand on Santana’s knee. “I’m really proud of you for figuring out you’re a bicorn, Rach.”

Brittany then throws her arms around Rachel who beams. Her blonde friend’s hugs have always been her favourite.

“If you count Sam, we’re outnumbered now, Santana. I’m,” Blaine laughs offhandedly. He halts at his own words when he feels three sets of eyebrows rise in his direction. “What?”

There’s a bit of tension whenever Blaine brings up his new boyfriend, mostly because the other women are still on decent terms with Kurt. Even if the man has been somewhat distant ever since he and Blaine separated.

Rachel can’t assuage her guilt for leaving Kurt out of this gathering, but he’s gone home to Lima for a while to deal with his marriage ending, among other things. 

Kurt hasn’t been the same since his father passed away a few years prior. While Burt's death didn’t necessarily blindside the family, it was still a loss that was felt by the town of Lima. 

Though both of Kurt’s parents are gone, he still has a family in the Hudsons. 

Rachel has been a lot closer with Blaine lately, but makes a mental note to check in on her grieving friend. 

There’s something to be said about Kurt’s life falling apart while hers falls together.

A few more playful jokes and jabs about the diva’s newly founded sexuality later, the diva tops off everyone’s wine glasses.

“I wanted to share the news with you guys first,” Rachel states nervously, changing the subject. “After my fathers, of course. They were both incredibly supportive about my new found sexual orientation, after a lengthy discussion.”

Santana takes a swig of her drink before saying, “Of course they were cool with it, Berry, they’re gay.”

Rachel is absolutely scandalized.

“I’ll have you know, Santana, biphobia still runs rampant in the community. They could’ve easily reacted as such.” 

“She comes out as gay for Fabray and it’s like we’ve entered a time machine,” Santana says to no one in particular. “Got a Powerpoint hiding somewhere, Berry?”

Santana receives a pillow to the face for the comment. 

“It’s taken me nearly thirty-nine years to figure out that I’m not heterosexual, so let me be loquacious.”

Blaine pokes his finger into the sky in realization.

“You know, this means, officially, that none of our friends are straight,” he says with an excited lilt to his voice. “And if they are, they aren’t cis.”

“Thank Barbara for that.” Rachel says, mid sip. “I wasn’t that bad when I was straight, was I?”

“Do you not remember your almost teen wedding to Finn Hudson?”

“I’ll have to agree with San,” Brittany smiles confidently. “Sorry Rachel.”

“No need to be sorry, Brittany, because I am one hundred percent _bisexual_.”

The four of them clink glasses as cheers and loud praise is exchanged all around. 

“You know, speaking of gay for Fabray, Rach, what are you going to do about Quinn?” Blaine asks lightly when the excitement dies down.

Rachel freezes at that, because really, she’s been trying to figure that out for a while now. Quinn won’t talk to her and the diva doesn’t want to push the woman any more than she already has.

“I don’t know, Blaine,” the diva tells her friends solemnly. “No matter the mode of communication, she still won’t answer.”

Santana bites her lip.

“Maybe you should just wait it out,” Blaine suggests with candor. “Let her come to you.”

The diva swallows thickly. “Yeah, maybe.”

* * *

Later that day, Rachel tidies up her bedroom to get her mind off of everything. 

Normally Rachel is somewhat of a neat person, but with opening night less than two weeks away, rehearsals have been full on. She has the weekend off, so she uses that time to re-organize her things and put them in their appropriate place. 

She reasons that if she has a messy living space, her children will latch onto her example and keep their rooms in abysmal shape too. 

The diva picks up scattered papers and wrappers that are strewn across the floor and tosses some sheet music she no longer needs into a trash receptacle. It doesn’t help much, mostly because an array of dirty laundry covers a good portion of Rachel’s hardwood floor. She tosses several garments into a laundry bin, working her way across the room.

She picks up a pile of leggings from the lounge chair at the far end of the bedroom and Quinn’s novel sits beneath them. 

Rachel had initially finished reading the book in a day and a half. Most of her reading was done in the later hours of the night, because it was so good, she couldn’t put it down. Most of Quinn’s novels have been exceptional, but there’s something about this latest one that hits home for Rachel.

She tosses the clothes onto her bed and parks herself in the chair, palming the book carefully like it’s glass.

Something compels Rachel to flip through the book from front to back. When she reaches the last page, she comes by a perfect script she hadn’t noticed before.

_There isn’t a single word I’ve written that hasn’t been interwoven with the inevitability of you._

_-Q_

Rachel tosses the book across the room as if it had scorched her skin. 

All those words...all of the words she had wished Quinn had written about her, she had _._ At least in some capacity.

The note was something that had appeared thoughtlessly written at her book signing, that the diva didn’t remember to check them. 

But nothing the blonde has done for Rachel has ever been without thought, or care, has it?

There’s so much _love_ and _adoration_ dripping from the words that Rachel’s chest aches. It’s both ignited a fire and terrifies Rachel.

The diva slowly approaches the novel again. She feels like if she grabs it too quickly, it’ll catch fire and consume everything in its wake. 

But it doesn’t. 

When she picks the book up again, she hovers over the blonde’s beautiful words once more.

Quinn wouldn’t have written that in her book, if she didn’t want Rachel to know how she feels.

Right?

 _Screw cleaning_ , she thinks.

The diva begins re-reading the novel in a brand new light. If anything, it’s a way for her to feel closer to the woman who wrote it.

The story touches on falling out of love. It touches on realizing the person you married is not the person you actually want to spend your life with.

It’s about finding new love in old spaces. 

It’s many things, and Quinn weaves each character and plot into the story seamlessly.

The main character’s old high school love, Maggie, _is_ Rachel. She’s an ambitious dancer, talented and keen to get out of the small town of Marquette, Michigan. Laura, the protagonist, despite hating Maggie at first, pulls strings behind the scenes to ensure that she does leave town in pursuit of bigger and better things.

They find their way into one another’s arms in the end.

Rachel wonders now, how she could’ve missed it. The story is autobiographical of Quinn’s life in so many ways.

The novel and Quinn’s note are a call to action, and Rachel hadn’t even realized it.

With a renowned sense of purpose, Rachel tells herself this isn’t the time for her to stay stagnant. It’s time for her to act.

She grabs her keys and whispers, “Fuck waiting,” to no one in particular.

* * *

Rachel drops by Brody’s place and practically begs, “Could you take Nate and Ashley for a while?”

“Of course,” her ex-husband looks perplexed, but agrees all the same. “Is everything okay?”

“Never better, actually,” the diva smiles so exuberantly, it catches the man off guard. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Rachel’s eyes twinkle in the light like that before, the sole exception being when she’s shining on stage. 

Despite his most valiant efforts, Brody was never able to spark the fire in his ex-wife he sees in her now.

It appears that someone else has, and he’s at peace with that. 

They weren’t right for one another, but he wishes the mother of his children the best, in spite of everything.

“It’s her, isn’t it?” Brody says. “The cheerleader from high school.”

Rachel is dumbstruck, all she can do is nod. She mentally prepares herself for a blow out that never comes. Which shouldn’t surprise her, because Brody has never minded Rachel having two fathers.

Instead of an argument, the man smiles widely. “That makes a lot of sense, actually. She’s the reason why we were never happy?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don't be, it’s okay,” he says, placing a hand over her elbow. “I’m relieved, actually.”

Rachel looks at him, pondering if he would’ve been _it_ for her in another lifetime. He could’ve been angry with her, kicked over a chair or worse, put them through a custody battle. 

Brody Weston is about as decent a man as they come; he just isn’t the right person for Rachel Berry, and for once, that’s okay.

“Well, my cab fare is probably over one hundred dollars by now,” she chuckles awkwardly. “Thank you for this, Brody.”

“Go be happy, Rachel,” he says seriously. 

She squeezes the man’s muscled shoulder as she stalks into the living room. She gives each of her kids a kiss on the top of their heads, and pulls them both into a two-armed hug.

“I love you both so much.”

Once they repeat it back, she shoots off an address to the cabbie with enthusiasm, and is on her way.

* * *

Considering the blonde won’t respond to her calls, Rachel thinks of another way she can reach out to Quinn.

Through her literary agency. 

Which luckily for Rachel, is located in Manhattan.

The diva flashes her million dollar smile at the doorman who instantly recognizes her as _Broadway’s best Fanny Brice._ The older gentleman lets her up to the fifth floor, but Rachel is immediately flagged by security for attempting to enter through the glass double doors leading to the offices without a keycard.

The man grabs Rachel by the shoulder before she can pass. “Not so fast.”

“Do you have any idea who I am? If you manhandle me once more, my lawyers will file a suit faster than you can say _Barbara Streisand_.”

“Who?”

Rachel gasps and squirms out of the guard’s clutches.

The burly security officer holds his hands up in frustration as Rachel presses the wrinkles from her dress. “Look, lady, Ms. Burns isn’t available. Frankly, I don’t give a damn who you are.”

Rachel scoffs and places a determined hand firmly onto her hip. An assisting security guard who looks like she doesn’t get paid enough for this, speaks to someone over the intercom.

She needs another tactic if her status won’t work.

“I can assure you, my intel is correct,” she trails off, peering at his name badge, “Mr. Stryker, and I’m honestly appalled at your utter lack of—”

Before Rachel can finish her lecture on company policy and mistreating public figures, a tall woman in a gray pantsuit appears at the door. She perches herself against it gracefully, holding it open with her backside. 

The woman is beautiful, with porcelain skin and piercing blue eyes. There’s something incredibly familiar about her, but the diva can’t place why that is.

“It’s fine, Jared,” Victoria Burns sighs, defeatedly. “Let her through.”

Jared nods with a scowl and mutters under his breath. “Women.”

Rachel pulls herself out of her thoughts, making sure to step on Jared Stryker’s foot extra firmly with her heel as she walks past. The man cries out in pain, his profanities growing quieter as the door closes behind them.

“I’ll admit, he deserved that,” Quinn’s agent smiles weakly once they’re on the other side of the door. “Pleasure to meet your acquaintance properly, Ms. Berry.”

The other woman extends her hand and Rachel takes it, her grip firm and more intimidating than she had been over the phone months ago. 

Victoria studies Rachel when their hands part.

“It’s lovely to put a face to the voice, Ms. Burns,” she smiles.

Victoria guides her through a busy bullpen of workers. They’re either too scatterbrained to notice a well known actress in their midst or they’re too desensitized to their robotic corporate conglomerate to actually care.

When they reach Victoria’s large office at the back of the floor, the woman maneuvers behind a massive, wooden desk with two monitors sitting atop it. The room is relatively minimalist and professional, but rather sterile if you were to ask Rachel.

There is a couch placed against the far wall, a flatscreen projector across from it, and a few knicknacks here and there that Rachel assumes are to make clients feel more at home. There’s a small conference table in another corner, all of which alludes the diva to how high ranking Victoria must be at the agency.

Decor aside, the main aspect that’s stood out to Rachel since she’s stepped into the office is the modern art along the walls. 

The painting that reels her in the most is one of a blonde woman seemingly in battle with a physical manifestation of her despair.

As Rachel gets lost in the painting, Victoria sighs, monitoring the other woman’s features. 

“So, what can I do for you, Ms. Berry?”

The diva hardly hears her, transfixed on the work of art. She runs her hand along the canvas, and when the tips of her fingers reach the bottom, she notices two initials, a small “V.B.” painted in the corner.

She knew Victoria had looked familiar, because she’s definitely seen her before.

_Oh._

“Ironically, that’s one of her favourites,” the agent tells her evenly. Rachel really pays attention to the woman after that. 

Her hands are sat on the surface of her desk, folded together uniformly and her hair thrown back in a perfect bun. It’s no shock that her suit is without wrinkles either. 

There’s not one aspect of Victoria Burns that isn’t prim, proper and well put together and it intimidates Rachel in ways she cannot begin to decipher at the moment.

“You,” Rachel begins, sputtering. She wonders how she didn’t piece this together before. But how could she? Quinn has never been forthcoming about anything, really. At best, she’s been a wall with a few cracks that Rachel has struggled to see through. “You’re Quinn’s ex-wife.”

The slight dip of her head hits Rachel like a ton of bricks.

Victoria’s features are slightly pained, but before Rachel can explore her attributes any further, they even out to indifference once again.

The action reminds her so much of the woman she loves, it makes her sick _._

Victoria is silent for a large stretch of time to select her words carefully. Her first impression of Rachel Berry may not have been the warmest (she _did_ threaten her job after all), but the woman knew of the diva long before she had ever spoken to her.

And not because she is a Broadway sensation.

Quinn had spoken about the elusive Rachel Berry when they had been dating. That one time was enough for Victoria to infer that she couldn’t ever measure up to the other woman. 

Rachel Berry was a seed that had blossomed and grown to heights that nobody else was tall enough to reach. She also seemed to be an idea, a dream that had been just out of reach for Quinn.

Victoria had certainly tried to measure up to Quinn’s idea of perfection; from her perspective, they had a loving relationship at the beginning. 

But one night about two years in, she found Quinn drowning in a sea of YouTube clips of her former Glee Club member. 

Recorded Broadway performances, interviews, gossip, the works. The blonde had insisted it was nothing, but Victoria Burns knew when someone wasn’t being genuine.

She isn’t proud of it, but Victoria looked through her girlfriend’s mobile history while she was in the shower the following evening, and had been mortified by what she found.

She confronted her girlfriend about it once she was in their shared bedroom, hair sopping wet and a towel wrapped around her lithe body. Quinn had insisted that she and Rachel had been friends in high school, and that she was just checking up on her.

But Quinn didn’t check up on her friends.

She didn’t have many, none that she kept close enough for that.

Victoria didn’t want to press the issue any further, afraid of what skeletons she would find in her girlfriend's closet. 

If things changed after that for the couple, Victoria chalked it up to their change in workload. She was happy to live in blissful ignorance, as long as she had the blonde to come home to. 

A few weeks after the incident, Quinn had proposed and Rachel Berry dissipated completely; she was replaced with seating charts and floral arrangements, marking the end of that particular bump in the road for the couple.

“Why are you telling me all of this?”

Victoria sighs, getting up from her desk chair and meeting Rachel in front of the painting. The woman stares at it like it’s a portal to another time in her life. 

She thinks it captures her ex quite nicely, if you ask her.

“I painted this right before I asked Quinn for a divorce. _This_ is the woman I’ve known for the past decade or so of my life,” Victoria reveals, then turns back to Rachel. “Until she got the invitation for your twenty year reunion, that is.”

Rachel’s eyes narrow in confusion.

“I had tried for so long to make my marriage work. When she got that invitation, I saw this expression I had never seen on my wife’s face before. After some much needed introspection, I couldn’t mistake what it was.”

Victoria pauses, looking away from Rachel’s hard gaze.

“Happiness.”

“Because of me?” Rachel stutters. 

Victoria nods solemnly.

“She had hoped it would give her the opportunity to reconnect with you again.”

Rachel can only nod, her guilt eating away at her.

“You love her too,” Victoria says throatily, turning her attention back to the painting. “Don’t you?”

“I-Yes,” Rachel tells Victoria, suddenly more intimidated than she ever thought she’d be by this woman. “L-Look, I sincerely apologize for whatever rift I’ve caused in your—”

“That won’t be necessary.” Victoria waves a hand. “I’m hardly mad at you, Ms. Berry.”

“That’s awfully mature of you.”

“How could I be angry with someone who hadn’t any idea this was going on?” Victoria shrugs and moves away from the painting and carefully moves onto the couch. “It's complicated isn’t it? Love. We cannot control it, can we?”

Rachel nods, sitting adjacent to the other brunette. “I know a bit about that.”

“Quinn and I had a lovely thirteen years together. Had either of us been brave enough to take a microscope to our relationship, we would’ve found that we both were settling,” Victoria tells Rachel, turning her body toward her. “I settled for second best and Quinn settled for someone who wasn’t you.”

Rachel can’t constrain the tears that form in her eyes. For a while, everything didn’t seem real. But now that the truth is staring Rachel in the face, telling her that Quinn has reciprocated her feelings for a long time, it’s overwhelming.

“I am aware we don’t know each other very well Victoria,” Rachel says, about to place a hand to the other woman’s knee, but then retracts it. “May I?”

Victoria nods, and Rachel places her hand there.

“You’re compassionate, empathetic and kinder than anyone in your position would be. Most people would hate me right now.”

“I wanted to,” Victoria admits. “I wanted to so badly, but you just had to be so damn talented, didn’t you?”

Rachel lights up at that. Victoria may be Quinn’s ex-wife, but the diva has definitely found an ally and a friend in Victoria Burns. 

Rachel has a few calls to make to the woman’s superiors after all. The diva makes a mental note to do so once all of this is over.

“Earlier you asked what you could do for me,” Rachel states, biting her lip while Victoria listens at attention. 

“What is it?”

* * *

Quinn Fabray was eighteen years old when she realized she was in love with Rachel Berry.

It was a gradual progression of feelings that crept up on the blonde during her tenure at McKinley. Somewhere between the name calling and slushie throwing, Quinn’s affections for the tiny brunette had bubbled up to the surface and became this great, big love. 

And she had no idea what to do with that.

When Rachel decided she was to become Mrs. Hudson in their senior year, the blonde could hardly deny her feelings any longer. She would’ve preferred getting hit by the truck a second time before watching the girl she loved live the life she had once damned herself to. 

A life that she was on a path to living, until a tiny boyfriend stealing diva showed her that she was _a lot more than that._

When the blonde came to terms with the fact that Rachel would never feel the same way about her, she thought she could handle being her friend, like the diva had always wanted. It’s why she purchased the MetroNorth passes in the first place.

But ultimately, Quinn couldn’t be Rachel’s friend, not really. Deep down, the blonde knew she’d always want more when it came to the diva—something she knew Rachel would never be able to give.

So Quinn cut off ties and spent most of her college years trying to forget about Rachel Berry. To do so, she had drowned herself in cheap alcohol and proceeded to hookup with men (and a few women here and there) every weekend. 

Whether the obliteration helped or not, is up for debate. 

By the time graduation rolled around, the budding author could no longer push her attraction to women to the back of her mind like she had hoped it would. 

Nor could she deny her lack of attraction to men. 

It took a long time for Quinn to accept her sexuality, but the bulk of that work didn’t happen until the blonde met Victoria. 

Their relationship was taboo for a while at the lit agency, being that an agent was dating their client, but the two of them made it work. Victoria allowed the crack Rachel left in Quinn’s heart to mend over time.

At least she thought she had.

It took Victoria sliding the divorce decree across their kitchen table for Quinn to realize she had thrown a band aid over a stab wound for nearly thirteen years.

The author couldn’t cope with the fact that she hurt another person, one she cared about, because she wasn’t honest. 

Once the papers had been signed by both parties, she immediately called Beth, needing to hear the twenty-two year old’s voice. She had to know that her one perfect thing was still thriving and happy.

More importantly, she had to make sure Beth wasn’t making the same mistakes she did. 

That’s what Quinn had been doing since high school, hadn’t she? She’d been playing it safe, and she didn’t want that for her daughter.

She couldn’t be heartbroken if there was no one to break it.

A culmination of romantic safety nets has led Quinn to this point. She’s pushing forty years old, divorced, and sipping on a wine cooler on a chilly beach in Maryland, alone. 

Well, not exactly alone.

“Come here Archie,” the blonde calls after the Golden Retriever, his tongue poking out of his mouth excitedly. He trots up to her and receives pets for being such an attentive companion. “Good boy.”

Once she’s soaked up some of his positive energy, Quinn grabs his chew toy from beneath her seat and chucks it a yard or two away. She laughs at his sense of urgency and brings her attention back to her tablet. 

If you had asked Quinn if she thought her life would’ve ended up where it has, she’d probably roll her eyes in disbelief.

Normally Quinn wouldn’t be at her beach house during the winter months, but she needed to get away from her mess of a life for a while. 

She has been on numerous best seller lists, has been the recipient of many prestigious awards, and has traveled the world with her work. The blonde had accumulated enough money to live comfortably for the rest of her days thanks to her success. On paper, Quinn has lived a fruitful life thus far.

But her romantic life leaves her emptier than she’d ever thought she’d feel at this age. She thinks back to junior year Nationals.

_I just want somebody to love me._

But not just somebody, a very specific someone.

She sighs, knowing that _that_ was never in the cards for her. 

* * *

Rachel finds herself on the other side of a very menacing door. 

The diva stares it down like the barrel of a gun for a while, then takes a deep breath, forcing herself to bring her knuckles to the hunk of wood.

When nobody answers the door of the charming home on the beach, Rachel tucks her tiny pink suitcase underneath the wicker chair on the porch and heads out the side gate. She removes her flats, abandoning them before sprinting as fast as she can toward the ocean.

It’s a cloudy day in December, so the area isn’t heavily populated. It doesn’t take Rachel very long to spot a head of blonde hair in the distance. 

The sand feels prickly underneath her feet, reminding her of the hell she’s been through to get to this point.

To _Quinn._ To a life where she’s allowed to have everything she wants. That is, if the blonde wants it too.

As she approaches the other woman, she stops to catch her breath and steel herself. 

She’s bracing for impact, and this time, she’s ready.

Every decision Rachel has made in the last six months has led her here, to this moment. And the diva is going to do everything in her power to make sure the opportunity won’t slip away again.

After twenty-one long years, Rachel is finally ready to get it right.

The brunette steps in front of Quinn with trepidation. When the blonde realizes someone is blocking the little light she has, she takes her eyes off of her tablet.

“Hi.”

She gasps, nearly dropping the device. 

“Rachel,” the blonde says wistfully. She wobbles up from her foldable chair and hazel eyes perforate Rachel’s brown ones. “You’re here.”

The diva smiles weakly, incredibly nervous not because of what she’s come here to say, but because of how her body reacts to Quinn. Now that she’s in tune to her feelings, she notices a pull to the other woman like a magnet. The diva wants to reach out for even a modicum of contact, but the last time she tried that, it all went up in smoke.

“I—” Rachel opens and closes her mouth a few times, but she shivers before she can get any words to pass her throat. “Do you mind if we go somewhere with heat?”

Quinn nods, slightly amused, and calls after Archie. The Golden heeds quickly, following behind the women. The blonde packs up her chair and stubbornly carries all of her belongings at once.

Once they settle inside, Rachel analyzes the space. Quinn’s home is beautifully decorated with navy blue walls, white accents and just a few pieces of furniture in the den. There are a few nails placed evenly on the walls, waiting for photos to be hung. 

When they make their way to the kitchen, things are a bit more finely tuned. Although Rachel is sure that if she opened the refrigerator, there'd hardly be any food.

The beach house is missing the nuance that a home lived in does. Rachel finds herself thinking that she would like nothing more than to build a home with Quinn. 

The blonde finally settles on a stool at the kitchen island and Rachel joins her, the large piece of marble dividing them. 

“Santana called,” the blonde mutters, offhandedly. Rachel nods, gripping the end of the marble surface. “She told me I should hear you out. Although I kind of assumed she meant a phone call. She failed to mention you’d managed to track me down.”

“Santana is a good friend when she wants to be,” Rachel smiles, suddenly sheepish. “We’ve been pretty close since high school.”

Quinn plays with her fingers, interlacing them and moving them apart over and over. “She did mention that. She actually had a lot of things to say about you.”

“All good, I hope.”

“Come on,” Quinn throws her a look. “It’s Santana.”

They both laugh, and it releases some of the tension in the room.

“I would’ve forewarned you of my visit, Quinn, but,” the diva pauses, taking in a sharp breath, “I was afraid you’d tell me not to come.”

“Why did you?” Quinn asks, and Rachel can feel the walls materializing around her. “I haven’t exactly made things easy for you.”

“I had to keep trying,” Rachel puffs out a bit of air. “Some things never change, huh?”

Their eyes meet, and Rachel so desperately wants to reach out and take Quinn’s hands in hers. 

“I just—I know I‘ve really screwed everything up, and I am so sorry for what I tried to—it was so _childish_ and I should’ve known better than to...” 

Rachel sighs and relocates to a stool next to Quinn. 

“I want you to know that you are not, and never will be just an experiment to me. You are so much more to me than that,” she tells Quinn, looking her directly in the eye. A lone tear falls down the blonde’s cheek which she wipes away very quickly. “I know that probably doesn’t inspire much trust, considering what happened the night of the reunion but—”

“Rachel,” Quinn says with a small smile, her hand meeting Rachel’s knee. It’s incredibly electric and the brunette’s belly flips at the contact. “You’re rambling.”

There’s so much care in the gesture and Rachel has no idea how she could’ve possibly missed all of the love Quinn has for her. 

“May I start over?”

Quinn bobs her head in agreement.

“I got your note. The one you wrote in the back of my book. Well, _your_ book technically, but my copy,” Rachel trembles, finding it hard to look anywhere but in the blonde’s expressive, hazel eyes. It takes her a moment to pluck up the courage, but she eventually asks, “You still love me?” 

Quinn stiffens, absolutely terrified at the words hanging in the air. This is exactly what she has feared since high school. 

The moment where Rachel finally clues into her feelings and rejects her.

 _Maybe it’s for the best_ , Quinn reasons with herself, _maybe this is the closure I've been depriving myself of. I’ll finally be able to move on with my life._

She closes her eyes, inhales deeply through her nose before opening them. Quinn looks more wounded than Rachel has ever seen her and it kills the brunette not to touch her in some way. 

Quinn eventually turns on the stool, facing away from Rachel.

“You know, I've written many words over the years. Millions, actually. I don’t think any combination of them could accurately capture the way I feel about you, Rachel.”

Rachel’s breath hitches. Quinn always did have a way with words. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Quinn laughs wetly before turning back to the brunette.

“Between your almost wedding to Finn, my accident, and you leaving for New York, was there ever a good time? I was so scared, Rachel. So scared of what my feelings made me and...I just knew you were better off not knowing.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Quinn Fabray.”

Quinn wipes a stray tear that had fallen from her cheek. “Why?”

“Did you really think I didn’t feel the same way about you?”

Quinn‘s mouth drops open, and the woman jumps up from the stool, scraping the bottom across the hardwood floor.

“W-What? There’s no,” the blonde stutters. “Please, don’t lie to make me feel better, Rach. The night of the reunion was a drunken one off, and I’ve made peace with that, but please—”

“ _Quinn_ ,” Rachel inches toward the blonde. When Quinn doesn’t back away, she lowers her chin until she looks into her open and loving, brown eyes. “I’ve been in love with you since we were fifteen.”

“Fifteen?” Quinn looks like she may pass out. She holds onto the edge of the stool to keep herself intact. “Rach, that—that would’ve been sophomore year. Why didn’t you tell me?” Quinn asks, ice seeping through her inquiry. “We could’ve—”

“I didn’t know. I couldn’t recognize my feelings for what they were at the time.” Rachel reaches out, finally holding her arms, forming small circles on Quinn’s skin with her thumbs. “It took me a long time to understand why I always gravitated toward you. Why I was always seeking you out, even though you were horrible to me most of the time. And it all comes down to this, right here.”

Rachel puts a shaky hand over Quinn’s heart.

“I apologize for making awful decisions after the reunion. That I kept pushing you,” Rachel tells the blonde dejectedly. “Santana finally got me to pull my head out of my ass and realize why I was so hung up on your crush on me in high school. I feel foolish that it took me this long to figure it out.”

Quinn shakes her head, her tears falling freely now. She interlaces a hand in Rachel’s and studies her in wonder. “You’re in love with me?”

Rachel nods, smiling softly, her own tears falling now. She cups Quinn’s cheek, her heart pounding in her chest as she steps closer. 

They’re only inches apart when Rachel snakes her other hand around the blonde’s neck. 

“I do, I love you, Quinn. So much.” 

Quinn so desperately wants to say it back, but she finds that she can’t find a way to form a sentence right now. 

This all feels like a dream she’ll soon wake up from.

When they spent the night together at the reunion, Quinn never thought she’d be able to have Rachel like that ever again. The author knew that if they so much as kissed, she’d never be able to recover.

When Rachel left in the early morning, Quinn cried for hours, mourning a birth and an imminent death. 

So when Rachel kept coming back, asking things of the blonde, she couldn’t open herself back up to that type of heartache again.

But to hear Rachel say these words…

Well.

For a second time, Quinn lets herself have Rachel, not giving a damn about anything else. She can worry about heartbreak later.

Quinn surges forward, crashing the diva’s lips against hers, and for the second time, she sees fireworks. 

This kiss, while just as passionate as their first one, is full of pent up desire, but also dripping with affection. Tears stream down both of their faces, but neither of them care enough to draw attention to it.

Rachel hardly comes up for air, because she never wants this to end. For the first time since she stepped foot on Broadway, she feels like she’s finally where she’s supposed to be. 

Once they eventually come up for air, Rachel leans their foreheads together and hums in content.

“I want this, Quinn. I want to be with you, if it’s not too late,” she whispers, running a hand gently over the blonde's cheek. “And if we do this, I need you to understand that a relationship with me isn’t just between you and I. I have two children who are very much a part of my life, and an ex-husband who is very much a part of theirs.”

Quinn nods in understanding, not looking away from the brunette.

“You don’t have to say anything right now. I know this is a lot to process and I want to give us both some space to do so, if that’s alright with you.”

While Quinn wants nothing more than to dive in feet first with Rachel, she nods. “Thank you.”

“One more thing.” Rachel pulls a ticket out of her purse that’s perched on the coat rack and places it into Quinn’s hands. “No pressure, but it’s for my show.” Rachel presses her lips to Quinn’s once more before she whispers with her lips turned upwards, “Whenever you’re ready.”

* * *

 _“Come on, you know you want to watch the hobbit sing her little heart out on Broadway,”_ Santana tells her over the line. _“Plus, you’re saving like, thousands of dollars. It’s Broadway,”_ she reasons.

Quinn would never admit this to Santana, but she’s actually seen all of Rachel’s shows at least twice. At first, the blonde would attend alone to watch Rachel unguarded, but after a while, her wife had asked to tag along.

Eventually, Victoria became just as big a fan of Rachel Berry as Quinn was. The blonde could hardly blame her, the woman _is_ talented.

“I don’t care about the money. And you know it isn’t just a ticket.”

Santana sighs over the line. _“I don’t even know why you’re struggling with this. It’s clear what you want to do, Q.”_

“There’s a lot to consider.”

_“What's there to consider? The fact that she’s in love with you? That she told you she wants to be with you?”_

“It’s complicated, San. I’d have to uproot my entire life to New York and...”

She trails off, mentally scanning her _Cons of Being with Rachel Berry_ list. Now that she thinks about them, the very few cons didn’t matter at all to Quinn.

_“Quinn, don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but you’re being a little bitch about this. You’ve been in love with the troll for twenty years.”_

Quinn scoffs, shaking her head. “Don’t call her that.”

She can feel Santana’s eye roll, even from another state.

_“You’re acting like relocating to New York would hurt your career or something. Isn’t that where your agency is? And don’t you have some super secret contract to close that you’ll have to be in New York for anyway?”_

The author feels her resolve deteriorating.

“Well yes, but—”

_“You can let yourself have this, you know.”_

Quinn paces around her beach house, tapping her phone with a manicured nail. 

“What if something goes wrong, S? What if it doesn’t work between us? I’ve built Rachel up in my head for so long that I don’t think I’d be able to handle it if we broke up somewhere along the way.”

Santana is silent on the line for a few moments.

 _“I won’t lie, getting heartbroken is always a possibility when you decide to love someone,”_ she tells Quinn. _“But you’ll always wonder what could’ve been if you don’t at least try. She loves you, and I’ll deny this if you ever repeat it, but I think you two are perfect for each other.”_

“Who knew Santana Lopez was so in touch with her soft side?”

 _“Shut up,”_ the woman huffs. _“And that's Lopez-Pierce to you.”_

“I’ll think on it,” Quinn says running a hand through her blonde locks. Archie trots over to his owner, leash in his mouth and sits. “I have to go, Archie needs a walk.”

 _“Don’t think this conversation is over, blondie.”_ Quinn just laughs, surprisingly thankful that she’s rekindled her odd friendship with Santana. 

“Tell Brittany I’ll call her later. I have updates on the seahorses.”

_“Please do. She hasn’t stopped talking about how they come to shore even though it’s freezing out. Did you know some breeds mate for life?”_

“It’s amazing how that girl still has you whipped,” Quinn accuses, but her friend just ignores her.

_“I could say the same thing about yours, Fabray.”_

Archie barks, and trots to the back door, waiting.

“Goodbye, S,” Quinn chuckles, hanging up the phone. The blonde grabs a plastic bag and a few treats before securing the Golden’s leash. “Okay, bud, ready to go?”

Archie pants in agreement.

It’s a surprisingly sunny day for December, so they follow the path on the boardwalk for a little while. Once Archie has finished his business, Quinn parks herself on a bench outside of a few quiet shops. She brushes down a few stray hairs on the dog’s head while he’s sat in between her legs, tongue peeking out of his mouth.

A few people from the town recognize Quinn as they pass and she waves to each of them with a polite smile. As much as she’s weighing her options, she’s not sold on giving up her beach getaway just yet.

“What do you say, Arch?” she asks, and the pup turns toward Quinn. “Do we want to go to New York to be with Rachel and her family?”

Archie barks excitedly, tail wagging at the question. He jumps up and onto Quinn’s legs, licking at her wildly. She laughs loudly, rubbing at his belly which calms him a little, but his enthusiasm isn’t deterred.

“Well, then, I guess it’s decided.”

* * *

Quinn finds herself standing outside of a bright marquee with Rachel’s name on it a week later. It’s the holiday season, so Times Square is bustling with tourists and shoppers. But the blonde pays no attention to them.

Currently, her eyes are twinkling at the thought of not having to hide in the back row of the theatre, watching the woman she loves in secret. 

Quinn gazes at the ticket Rachel gave her a week and a half ago and steps into the theatre, and quite possibly, the most important performance of her life.

* * *

Quinn is seated a few rows back from the front, and she couldn’t be more jittery. There is a great chance of being seen by Rachel, and the blonde is not at all used to it. Or it could be the two extra shots of espresso she ordered in her cold brew earlier.

Rachel has done a lot of Broadway revivals, on and off. She’s even dipped her toes into film and television. Out of all of the brunette’s work, Quinn has to say that _A Rip in Time_ is one of her favourites. 

The story is unique and the characters are so raw and real, that Quinn is invested in more than just Rachel; which isn’t a common occurrence for the author, as the brunette usually outshines everyone else. 

Although Quinn may be a little biased.

When Rachel appears on the stage for the penultimate performance, spotlight only on her while she’s curled in on herself, the blonde inches up to the edge of her seat. 

Rachel’s character Amelia has made a grand mistake and believes she’s lost her love, Constance, for good. Amelia has tears streaming down her face when she begins singing softly, begging her for one last try.

_Let the water rise_

_Let the ground crack_

_Let me fall inside_

_Lying on my back_

_Lying on my back_

Rachel searches the audience, scanning the different faces in the row for the sole one she was looking for. The blonde swallows thickly in the interim, Rachel’s voice never ceasing to have a physical effect on her. 

_Dry your smoke-stung eyes_

_So you can see the light_

_You're staring at the sky_

_Watching stars collide_

Her belly flips as the diva’s voice, along with the music, crescendo.

_Watching stars collide_

Rachel finds Quinn in the crowd, fiery brown meeting ethereal hazel. The blonde’s heart somersaults into her stomach when Rachel’s gaze doesn't leave hers.

_If you leave_

_When I go_

_Find me_

_In the shallows_

Tears roll down Quinn’s cheeks while Rachel tries to hide the knowing smile coming through her own tears. It’s out of character for Amelia to be grinning during this particular moment, so the blonde is aware this is for her.

Because Rachel knows why Quinn here. And Quinn knows exactly what Rachel is trying to convey.

_When the time comes_

_On the last day_

_When they start to come down_

_Will you just_

_Will you run away?_

_Will you run away?_

For once in her life, Quinn just lets herself have this. She lets herself envision a life of watching Rachel Berry from the audience, her performances being as much for Quinn as they are for herself.

_And let it all rain down_

_From the blood stained clouds_

_Come out, come out, to the sea my love_

_And just_

_Drown with me_

She envisions a life where they live in symbiosis; at home with Rachel’s children running around, while the two of them are curled in on one another on the couch, sipping coffee.

_Drown with me_

She envisions a life where she gets to hold Rachel at night, where they sleep in the same bed.

_If you leave_

_When I go_

_Find me_

_In the shallows_

She envisions a life where she doesn’t have to hold any of her all-consuming love for this woman back anymore.

_Lying on my back_

_Watching stars collide_

As Rachel holds out her last note, they’re both openly crying and they don’t stray from one another. 

Something then clicks in place, like a key inside of a lock for Quinn.

_She really does love me._

The audience's explosive applause and cheers at the brunette’s performance breaks Quinn out of her thoughts. 

There are only a few scenes left, and while the blonde is shocked (and maybe a little jealous) when the diva practically shoves a tongue down her co-star’s throat at the conclusion of the musical, she could hardly reiterate how the story ends if someone asks her.

Before she knows it, the cast is returning to stage for curtain call. When Rachel comes back out last, the house _shakes_ with applause, _which is what she deserves_ , Quinn thinks.

Despite the fact that Rachel has probably been the recipient of cheers like this her whole career, the woman still blushes every time. It makes Quinn love her more, if she’s honest.

The lights come back on when the show properly ends, signaling another successful night.

Quinn makes her way up the aisle, patiently waiting for Rachel to finish changing out of her costume. A younger security guard, whose job it is to ensure no one from the public goes backstage, is perched at his post. 

Another guard comes up to the blonde and asks, “Quinn Fabray?”

Quinn nods dumbfoundedly. “Yes?”

“Miss Berry has requested your presence backstage. You may follow me.”

The author is a ball of nerves, weaning through actors and crew members as she follows closely behind the man. There are many dressing rooms, and they stop outside of one that reads _Rachel Berry_ with a gold star atop the text.

_Some things never change._

The guard knocks lightly on the door, “Miss Berry, your delivery.”

The older man smiles knowingly at Quinn, then bows out before the door swings open.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

They’re both trying to fight the smiles on their faces.

“Come in,” Rachel tells her, moving herself away from the door. She’s in a sheer black robe and her updo is now flowing over both shoulders.

She looks incredibly attractive, and it takes everything in Quinn to not take her up against the vanity.

“I got the flowers you sent,” Rachel grins, placing a small hand around the vase sitting on the dresser. “They're beautiful. And very fitting, I must say.”

Quinn places a hand on top of the vanity. “Well, I figured since you inadvertently got me that corsage in junior year, it was about time I returned the favour.”

“You knew about that?”

“Not until very recently,” Quinn swallows, stepping closer to Rachel. “It was the one thing Finn did that made me feel special throughout our relationship, and it came from you.”

Rachel looks at Quinn’s lips, then back at her hazel eyes that shine with flecks of gold. “I’m glad the corsage had the desired effect.”

“Of course it did, Rach. Thinking back to that night, you were the only person who could ever get through to me back then, even when I thought myself hopeless,” Quinn breathes, and her voice quivers as she says, “You told me that I was more than just a pretty face, and I cannot tell you how much that changed my life.”

Rachel gasps lightly. “I believed it back then, and though you are still the most breathtakingly beautiful woman I have ever met, you’ll always be more than that to me.”

Quinn cups Rachel’s cheek. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?”

Quinn just shakes her head and laughs through her tears. The blonde softly interlaces their fingers before she continues. 

“Your song. I heard you loud and clear, and I-I want...” Quinn pauses, pulling Rachel’s hands towards her chest. “I want this too. I want you. It’s all I’ve ever wanted and I’m so tired of pretending like it’s not.”

Rachel shudders at the blonde’s words, smiling with her tear-stained eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Quinn sighs, letting her hands snake around Rachel’s waist, leaning into her. “I’ve never been more sure about anything in my life.”

Rachel’s eyes flutter closed and Quinn slowly closes the distance between them, their lips brushing together every so slightly. When Rachel kisses her back, Quinn puts her entire body and soul into it, pouring everything she’s ever felt for the woman into this one meeting of lips.

Quinn can’t tell if it’s her own tears that stain her cheeks or if they’re Rachel’s, but she can’t find it in her to care at the moment. She’s getting everything she’s ever wanted, and pulls them apart to say the words that have been on the tip of her tongue since senior year of high school.

“I love you,” Quinn shudders, brushing a few stray hairs out of Rachel’s face and cupping her cheek. “I love you so much, Rachel.”

Rachel leans into her touch and places her hand on the blonde’s.

“I love you too, Quinn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics are from Shallows by Daughter.


	6. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! 
> 
> Here’s the epilogue, signaling the end of this little reunion fic. This chapter is a bunch of fluff. I’m not sorry about it.
> 
> Thank you very much to everyone who commented, gave kudos, and read this story.💕

**VI.**

_Six Months Later_

“Okay, little soldiers,” Quinn says, her hands at attention in front of Nate and Ashley. They’re in Rachel’s kitchen, each child with a small backpack each at their feet. “Time to report for duty.”

Rachel watches on incredibly amused, as she finishes cutting up carrots for their snack bags at the island.

“Bathing suits?”

“Check,” Ashley says.

“Sunscreen?”

“Yep,” Nate tells her, once he’s found the tube in their bag.

“Snacks?”

“Mom isn’t done with them yet.”

Quinn throws a small smirk at her girlfriend, who nearly misses slicing through the carrot she’s working on. Quinn’s smile does that to her.

“Swimmies?” Ashley nods while Nate tries his best not to look incredibly guilty. Quinn turns to him. “I’ll take that as a no, Sergeant?”

“I’m too old for swimmies,” Nate says with a huff. “I’m eleven now.”

Quinn kneels down in front of the boy really dramatically and asks, “What if the sharks get your feet? Will you be too old then?”

“Sharks?” Ashley squeaks in fear next to them, and Rachel cannot help but snort. 

“Something funny, Berry?”

Rachel finishes tossing the last carrot into a ziploc bag and aims all of her attention at her girlfriend.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she says in faux surrender. “You just sound like Beth.”

Quinn’s mouth drops. Nate then tugs on Quinn’s hand, so she shifts her attention from the boy’s mom to him. “Is Beth coming with us?”

“Maybe,” Rachel tells him furtively. “Only if you pack your swimmies. Ashley, could you help your brother find them?”

Nate huffs again, stalking back to his room with his sister in tow. Quinn turns to Rachel, taking the woman’s hands into her own. “You’re getting way too good at torturing him, you know.”

“He’s at that age,” Quinn smiles, giving Rachel a kiss on the cheek, who blushes. “Anything either of us does will torture him.”

Rachel nods, eyes raking over her girlfriend who is dressed in a sheer, white bathing suit cover, a matching bikini top and bottom. 

“My eyes are up here,” the blonde jokes, pulling Rachel’s hips closer to hers.

“Yeah, but all the fun stuff is down there,” Rachel whines, hovering over Quinn’s arms, down her collarbone, and eventually landing on the dip of her pale chest.

“You play a dangerous game, Berry.”

“Are you ever going to stop calling me by my last name?”

“Maybe when you take mine,” Quinn purrs without thought, and then freezes. “I-I didn’t mean—”

She’s cut off by Rachel’s quick mouth sliding against hers.

“It’s okay,” Rachel says in a silky tone, her eyes twinkling. She doesn’t seem at all bothered by Quinn’s statement, which confuses the blonde.

She cups Rachel’s cheek, her thumb stroking up and down lightly.

“You’re not freaked out?”

Rachel shakes her head with a smile. “Why would I be?”

“We’ve only been dating for six months,” the blonde points out. “I never thought I’d be one of _those_ lesbians, you know?”

Rachel laughs while she reaches up, placing both of her hands behind Quinn’s neck. 

“We’ve known each other for a long time, Quinn,” the diva says, continuing before the blonde can cut her off. “Even if _somebody_ stopped speaking to me after high school.”

“Whatever, Berry,” Quinn pouts petulantly, but brings her lips down to her girlfriend’s anyway. 

“Gross,” Nate says to his sister. The couple pulls apart slowly, looking at the boy who has a lack of swimmies in his hands. “I thought I’d make a compromise with this vest,” he tells the women, pulling on a blue life jacket and snapping it closed around his stomach. “It’ll keep me safe in the water and it’s a lot more grown up.”

“Let the adults discuss, Nathaniel.” 

Rachel turns to Quinn, who says, “He has your garrulousness.”

Rachel shoots her a pointed look.  
  
“I resent that, Quinn Fabray,” Rachel mutters, stomping her foot. “He’s negotiating to get his terms met, which is more your territory, isn’t it? You, the former National championship winning head cheerleader who used to run McKinley with an iron fist?”

“Well, when you say it like that,” Quinn whispers sultrily into Rachel’s ear. “It’s pretty hot.”

Rachel playfully swats at her. “Focus, Fabray. What is our counter offer?”

The two women huddle together momentarily, deciding what to do about the life jacket. Nate crinkles his forehead, confused by what his mother and her girlfriend are discussing, while Ashley changes her teddy bear’s outfit to one that is beach appropriate.

Eventually, they both turn back to the boy as a united front.

“You can wear the vest,” Rachel tells him, while Quinn nods enthusiastically.

Nate charges at the women, hugging them with both arms, “Thanks, Moms.” 

Quinn freezes at that while the front door sounds, both children take off running toward the sound.

“Did he just say what I think he said?”

Rachel just beams, snaking an arm around Quinn’s waist. “He certainly did.”

Quinn wipes a few tears with her palm as she and Rachel make their way to the living room to greet their guest.

When Beth finished her undergrad degree at Ohio State, she decided to follow in her biological mother’s footsteps. She is currently pursuing a Master’s in Creative Writing at Columbia University. 

The younger Corcoran could’ve continued her degree elsewhere, but ultimately decided she wanted to spend more time with Quinn, and by extension, Rachel and her family. 

There was some confusion for sure, at first. Was Rachel her sister and Nate and Ashley her nephew and niece? Or was she her biological mother’s girlfriend who had two small kids?

Honestly, it all made the girl’s brain hurt way too much. But despite the familial logistics, Beth was happy to be surrounded by the bunch. 

Ohio was pretty dull in comparison to life with Beth’s famous biological mother and her even more famous Broadway girlfriend in New York City.

Quinn was extremely proud of Beth for getting into Columbia, who got into the school on a partial scholarship and a few grants. 

Quinn had called Shelby, offering to give Beth a place to stay in the interim. The blonde figured eventually she’d find a job that would fund a small apartment and utilities. In the meantime, it gave Quinn the opportunity to really get to know her daughter as an adult, an opportunity her career hardly allotted.

There are playful shrieks from the other room, and the two women come to find the older girl giving Nate noogies and ruffling Ash’s hair. 

Rachel’s heart is so full when she sees her children and Quinn’s child bonding with one another. They feel like a real family, something that she felt was missing when she was married to Brody.

It seemed Quinn was the missing piece to that particular puzzle.

“How was your class?” Rachel asks, giving the younger woman a one armed hug.

Beth removes her messenger bag and tosses it onto the couch. “Stressful,” the younger woman sighs. “Summer semesters should be illegal.”

“May I remind you, you voluntarily took those courses,” Quinn chuckles. “At least you have a bit of a break before your internship starts.”

Beth nods, about to say more, but Ashley interrupts her.

“Are you coming to the beach house with us?” Ashley asks Beth, the little girl placing her little hand into the older girl’s. “Nate got his vest.”

Beth smiles at the little girl.

“Duh, dude, that’s why I’m here.” The older girl pokes Ash’s nose with a bright smile. “And to make sure these two don’t get into any trouble.”

Quinn and Rachel feign outrage.

“Cool, you can help us build a sandcastle,” Nate points out.

“I am quite the expert,” Beth tells him. “Is everyone going?” She inquires to the adults. Quinn knows she really means to ask if anyone her age is going.

“If by everyone you mean our friends, then yes,” Quinn tells her daughter. 

Beth groans.

“Santana mentioned her cousin Mariana may join us,” Rachel chimes in, placing a sympathetic hand on Beth’s shoulder. “She’s a few years your senior, I believe.”

“Is she cool?”

“Guess you'll have to find out,” Rachel tells her placatingly.

Rachel and Quinn share a knowing smirk.

“We have a long drive ahead of us, so we should get moving,” Quinn points out, checking her watch. “Shall we?”

“Archie, c’mere boy,” Rachel calls after the dog, who comes running from the master bedroom. He jumps up, licking at the diva’s face as he stands at full height. Rachel just giggles and pets him until he lowers.

Quinn interlaces her fingers into Rachel’s as the family unit makes their way to the blonde’s car in the overly priced monthly parking garage.

* * *

A four hour drive later, Quinn pulls into the driveway of her home in Maryland. 

The last time Rachel was here, it was frigid, dreary and she was scared out of her mind at the idea that Quinn wouldn’t accept her love. But now, they’re here, hands clasped over the console, and having shared the more intimate details of their lives over the course of their budding relationship.

The two are still getting to know one another again; although Rachel has found that Quinn is relatively the same person she’s always been at heart, just older and more comfortable with who she is. 

Once they decided to go for it and be together, they spent many long nights just talking openly and honestly over wine. Her connection to Quinn is stronger than it's been with anyone else, and she suspects Quinn feels the same. 

Even though they’ve only been dating for mere months, Rachel knows they’re in this for the long haul. 

It’s just an inkling the diva has, one she’s never had before.

The sentiment rises in her belly tenfold when she watches the love of her life grip Nate’s hand while Beth holds Ashley’s as the four of them approach the front door of the house. They just fit in ways that Rachel had never anticipated but quietly wished for. 

Her lips upturn into a large, toothy smile as she gets out of the passenger side of the car, watching her family maneuver as a unit. 

It’s almost as if Quinn can sense the brunette’s eyes on her back, and she turns around while ushering the children inside with her hands. The blonde’s face lights up from the doorway, holding out her arm for Rachel to come and take.

And she does, ever so willingly.

* * *

An hour later, the other couples arrive; Santana, Brittany and their daughter Camilla as well as Sam and Blaine. Santana’s younger cousin Mariana who is on summer break from Penn State joins them last, making this the biggest gathering Quinn has ever had in her summer home.

She and Rachel had taken the trip last weekend for some much needed decorating. Quinn wanted to add some life into the house mostly for this weekend, but the diva had put her foot down as well. “We need to spruce this place up, stat.”

It took minimal convincing, which involved a lack of clothing. 

Neither woman minded that one bit.

They added art and family photos to the walls, purchased some additional tables, couches with pullout beds, and a set of bunk beds for the children. They also did a massive grocery shop in town and bought some pots and pans for meals. Lastly, the two of them mounted a television to the wall in the den, completing their home improvement for a long while.

Together, Quinn and Rachel had made the summer house more of a home. It’s now somewhere they can go whenever they need a break from the stresses of their lives. 

When Quinn was married to Victoria, she felt herself unwilling to share a majority of her spaces. She enjoyed her individuality too much. 

But now, Quinn finds herself wanting to invite Rachel into many of her spaces. It’s a welcomed change, she thinks. For the first time in Quinn’s life, she actually has other people she wants to share things with. 

Sometimes she’ll just look over at Rachel and her breath will catch in her throat, unbelieving that this is her life. That she actually gets to have this.

The blonde pinches herself, but nothing changes. 

They’re all still here.

“Hey Fabray, stop leering at your girlfriend and give us a hand, will you?” 

Santana is a pain in Quinn’s ass, but she wouldn’t have her any other way.

Once the group is ready to settle on the beach, they all carry umbrellas and some lounge chairs over to a coveted spot. Quinn and Rachel have provided two large coolers with beverages, alcohol for the adults and juice for the kids, along with a bunch of snacks.

When they’re done setting everything down, Beth and Mariana take the children over to the water. The rest of them lay on their backs, sunglasses pushed up on their faces, taking in the warm sun.

“This is wonderful,” Rachel says, having stripped herself of her clothes, now covered in only a fire engine red two piece bikini. 

Quinn can’t help but fixate on the diva’s toned abs through her sunglasses. “Sure is.”

Rachel swats at the blonde playfully.

“To think, if Brittany hadn’t bullied us all into going to that lame twentieth reunion, none of us would be here right now,” Santana sighs, a hand running through her wife’s long locks. “Let’s agree to skip the thirtieth, yeah? That shit was _dull_.”

Rachel giggles, knowing that Santana is lying through her teeth. She had a great time, from what she remembers.

“I could personally go another lifetime without seeing JBI bust a move,” Blaine laughs, his hand finding Sam’s next to his. The blonde man rubs circles onto Blaine’s skin and he smiles at the gesture. “By the way, Quinn, did you know that Rachel almost didn’t go to the reunion?”

Quinn turns to the diva, pushing her sunglasses up and onto her head. Her hair bunches up around them and Rachel finds herself distracted by how the wispy locks are framing her face. She’s gorgeous, and Rachel doubts she’ll ever stop feeling lucky that she gets to call Quinn hers. “Really?”

Rachel nods, placing an arm over the blonde’s.

“At first I was reluctant to go, until Mercedes called,” Rachel contorts her body slightly to break out one of the wine coolers. “As the person unlucky enough to be in charge of the guest list, she called me. She was surprised to hear that you RSVP’d, as was I, so I changed my mind about attending.”

“You went because of me?” Quinn’s eyebrows have practically disappeared into her hairline at this point. 

“Well, yes,” Rachel takes a sip of the light blue drink. “Why do you sound so surprised, Quinn?”

“Because I went in hopes that you’d be there too,” the blonde smiles back at her girlfriend. _I should really call Mercedes_ , she thinks.

“How disgusting,” Santana tells them.

“Shut up, Santana,” Sam chastises lightly, a hand twisting its way through Blaine’s curly hair. “I think they’re cute. What’s even cuter was the way Quinn used to drool during Rachel’s performances in glee club.”

Santana nearly spits out her wine cooler and high fives Sam for the jab.

“I did not drool, Evans.”

“Sorry, Quinn, you definitely did,” Sam smirks. “You were super obvious about your crush on Rachel, even when we were dating.”

Blaine kisses Sam on the cheek.

“I’ll be honest, Kurt and I had made bets about when you’d finally come out, Quinn,” Blaine commented sheepishly. “I think I owe him twenty bucks, actually.”

“And _I_ was the bully,” Quinn scoffs dramatically, while Rachel takes the woman into her arms. “None of you are getting special thanks in the credits now.”

Rachel shakes her head, getting whiplash at the topic change.

“I’m sorry, did you say credits?” Rachel asks, inquisitively staring down at Quinn. “Credits for what?”

Quinn freezes like she’s said too much.

The blonde eventually sighs and relents, “I wanted to wait until after this weekend to tell you, Rach, but clearly I can't contain myself,” the blonde tells her nervously, taking both of Rachel’s hands into hers. “Remember the detective novel I wrote—”

“ _A Murder on Main Street_ , of course. I loved that one,” the diva smiles encouragingly.

“Well, I had a meeting with a studio in the city a few weeks ago. They want to make a feature film adaptation of it,” Quinn tells the group gently.

“Quinn, that’s incredible!”

“I’m so proud of you, baby!”

“Can I be in it?”

“Will there be a dog in the movie? That’d be sick!”

Quinn just laughs at her friends, “Okay, okay. I haven’t even made my decision yet.”

“What the hell are you waiting for, Q?” Santana challenges brashly.

“They want me to write the film,” the blonde tells the group, sighing. “I haven’t tried my hand at a screenplay since the screenwriting elective I took at Yale. It’s a lot of pressure.”

“Quinn, you can do this.” Rachel squeezes Quinn’s hand. “You’re a brilliant storyteller, and this is just another medium to do it in.”

“I don’t know, Rachel, I—”

“I do,” she grins with a squeeze.

Quinn’s heart melts at her girlfriend's comforting words. Her walls come down briefly when she whispers, “You really think I can do this?” 

It pains Rachel when Quinn talks like this, mostly because she believes in her girlfriend so much, and always has. She’s so proud of the things Quinn has achieved in her life already, and Rachel is positive that she is capable of so much more.

The diva feels that she has chipped away at the once impenetrable barrier Quinn has built around her emotions more and more over the course of their relationship. They still have a long way to go, but Rachel is patient. She’s more than willing to continue to be, no matter how long it takes for Quinn to trust her.

_Whenever you’re ready, Fabray._

“I know so,” Rachel tells the blonde, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I believe in you, Quinn Fabray.”

Quinn thinks about it a bit, her friends’ gazes not leaving hers. Santana nods in approval, giving Quinn a bit of perspective. 

If Rachel and her friends believe she can do this, maybe she can. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” she grins reluctantly. “I’ll give it a go.”

Rachel squeals, flinging her arms around Quinn’s neck while everyone else regards the blonde, a congregation of congratulatory words.

“What are we all yelling about?” Beth asks, with Mariana, Ashley and Nate in tow.

“Your mother is going to adapt one of her novels into a screenplay,” Rachel smiles widely at Beth.

“That I am going to make sure I have creative control over,” Quinn amends quickly.

“Oh, I will make sure you do baby,” Rachel assures, already mentally arranging the conference phone call to her lawyers and Victoria.

Quinn’s eyebrow curls, loving when her girlfriend takes action. 

“Quinn, that’s awesome,” Beth tells her, wrapping her arms around the other blonde’s neck. “We should celebrate your big news.”

“And how do you suppose we do that, kid?”

* * *

Once the sun has set over the beach, the sky fades into a colourful combination of pink and blue. 

The group has moved further down the beach where there are a few large logs to sit on; they converge there along with the rest of their belongings.

While Blaine and Brittany set up a fire for some s’mores, Santana and Quinn sing along to some soft guitar Sam is playing. Mariana watches and listens intently, wondering how she never knew that her aunt and friends were this talented.

In the meantime, Rachel and Beth had been given the task of putting Ashley, Camilla and Nate to bed.

Once the kids are tucked in and are all given kisses to their respective foreheads, Beth closes the door behind them. 

Rachel moves down the hallway with the intention of heading back out to the group, when the younger girl stops her.

“Rachel?” The brunette turns, facing her girlfriend’s daughter. “Can I...can I ask you something?”

The diva moves closer to Beth, whose eyes are focused on the ground.

“Of course you can, Beth. What’s going on?”

The way Rachel looks at her with caring eyes is what gives Beth the strength to persist.

“How did you know you liked girls?” The college student looks so incredibly frightened. That certainly wasn’t a question Rachel was expecting. Surely she’d go to Quinn for something like this first, right? “I’d ask Quinn, but, I trust you and I just…”

Rachel smiles empathetically when the girl trails off, placing an arm on the girl’s shoulder. “It's okay, Beth. I’m here for you, whenever you need me.”

Beth sighs in relief, then pushes through. “I just...Mariana and I...we’ve been hanging out all day, and my stomach keeps flip flopping about it.”

The diva squeezes Beth’s shoulder. “In my experience, that’s how you know. The rest comes in time, when you’re ready to handle it.”

Beth just nods, soaking in the information as best she can. “I’m scared.”

And Rachel knows Beth isn’t scared to be into women, because of who Quinn is and who their friends are. Beth is afraid of Shelby’s reaction about this, and that’s why she came to Rachel. 

Because it’s likely she needs a sister, too.

“I know baby,” Rachel says, wiping a stray tear from the girl’s face. 

“I mean she rejected you, didn’t she? Which is so unfair if you ask me. You’re a wonderful person Rachel, and Shelby is missing out on knowing you and your family.”

Now it’s Rachel’s turn for the waterworks. Rachel had put Shelby behind her a long time ago, which had nothing to do with Beth. A part of the reason the diva had been hesitant to form a relationship with Beth was _because_ of Shelby, but now that she’s gotten to know the young woman, she can easily separate the two. 

She could hardly blame a child for her mother’s mistakes.

“Well, she must’ve done something right for you to turn out the way you have, Beth. No matter what, Shelby loves you. Quinn loves you, hell, even my fathers love you. And of course, I love you. There is so much love to go around in this quirky, dysfunctional family that I cannot imagine anyone ever turning you away for who _you_ love,” the diva tells her, cupping the girl’s chin. “Besides, Mariana is pretty cute. You could do worse, you know.”

Beth cries harder and flings her arms around Rachel, who may or may not be crying into the girl's hoodie.

She’s taller than Rachel, after all, there’s not much the diva can do about it.

“Thank you, Rachel.

“Anytime, Beth,” the diva beams once they pull apart from the hug. “She was totally flirting, by the way.”

“Right?”

The pair make their way back onto the beach with the contents for the s’mores, and the adults are finishing up a rendition of _We are Young_.

The irony isn’t lost on Rachel.

Rachel happily joins in on the last chorus, while Mariana and Beth look confused.

“What song was that? I’ve never heard of a band called _fun_ before,” Mariana mentions.

Beth joins her on the log the other girl is perched on and says, “Me neither. Must be an old person thing.”

The girls laugh while the adults ignore them completely, thoroughly reminiscing their youth.

Quinn grabs Rachel’s hand and pulls her toward her and Sam, who begins playing a familiar guitar lick. 

“I know you are going to ask anyway, so I’ll save you the trouble. Would you like to perform a duet with me, Ms. Berry?”

Rachel beams, wrapping her arms around her girlfriend’s neck. “I would love to, Quinn. What song did you have in mind?”

Quinn taps her chin in faux thought. “I was thinking, for old time sake, we do the one and only duet we ever did together in glee club. It’s ours.”

Rachel instantly knows which song Quinn is talking about. 

The diva recalls the time she and Quinn performed _I Feel Pretty/Unpretty_ and how well their voices meshed together. 

How the songs shouldn’t have intertwined together so well, but they did.

How Quinn was the only person who supported Rachel’s decision to get a nose job, but told her through song that she didn’t _need_ to have one.

That, in not so many words, she was perfect the way she was.

With all of their friends and family around, Rachel is overcome with happiness. She wouldn’t change their life and trajectory for anything. 

“I would love to, Quinn.”


End file.
